


Petal By Petal Blossoms the Rose

by tiaoconnell



Series: A Rose Blooms in Baker Street [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Big Brother Mycroft, Big Brother Sherlock, Discipline, Family, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-13 16:24:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 118,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2157297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiaoconnell/pseuds/tiaoconnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose Holmes, younger sister of Mycroft and Sherlock, is a force to be reckoned with. Intelligent, emotional, prone to finding mischief at every turn, Rose lives her life her own way, often to the chagrin of her brothers, John Watson, and the whole 221B 'family.' She never fails to keep everyone on their toes and Mycroft in a state of constant worry, but they wouldn't have her any other way! SEQUEL to "A Rose Blooms in Baker Street." Includes disciplinary spankings, don't read if that doesn't appeal to you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sherlock's 8 Simple Rules

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a sequel to "A Rose Blooms in Baker Street" following directly where that story ended. It is necessary to read that story in order to fully understand this one. It is also connected to the work "Raising a Wildflower" which features stores from Rose's growing years.

Mycroft Holmes entered the hospital and headed for his sister’s room after a brief consultation with the registrar. Lestrade had never bothered to respond to his text so god only knew what was wrong with her, but luckily his meeting had broken up fairly quickly, allowing him to make haste to the hospital.

Standing outside Rose’s room, Sherlock saw his brother approaching and decided to give her and John a little bit of assistance in the Mycroft department. It wasn’t his secret to tell, but they deserved a chance to mount a reasonable argument to Mycroft’s objections at a time when Rose was not in pain. “Don’t go in there yet, Rose was being examined by the doctors,” he told Mycroft.

“Rose! Mycroft is here, are you decent?” Sherlock called.

Inside the room John and Rose leapt away from one another. She let out a groan of pain at the sudden jerk. John moved to a chair near the hospital bed and both tried to look very casual as Rose called for them to enter.

“I should get going,” Greg admitted, sticking his head briefly into Rose’s room. “I’ll text and see how you’re doing later. Behave,” he warned, giving her a wink before making his exit.

Mycroft entered the room, his eyes looking her over, surprised that for the most part she looked well, other than the obvious signs of being in pain. Sweat on her brow, face paler than normal and pinched with pain, but otherwise appeared to be none the worse for wear. “Alright poppet, what have you done this time?” he asked in a weary voice once the DI had departed.

“Someone tampered with my chair at work and I fell rather hard,” Rose told him before proceeding to bite her lip.

“Yes and that _absolutely_ requires being conveyed to hospital in a police car with lights and sirens,” Mycroft replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “The whole of it, if you please, Rosenwyn.” He cocked an eyebrow at her and watched as Rose averted her eyes and continued to chew on her lip.

“Well, I uh… Er…” The words were right on the tip of her tongue but Rose struggled to get them out knowing Mycroft would have an utter fit.

“Sometime _today_ Rosenwyn,” Mycroft ordered in a firm tone. “I do have other things to do than sit here and metaphorically pull teeth trying to get information out of you. Clearly, you’ve done something wrong or you wouldn’t be this reluctant to tell me. Since I am already aware that I will be displeased with you, you might as well just tell me and get it done with.”

“I probably have broken ribs. I’ve been sore for weeks because of practice and got hurt Tuesday night, possibly breaking a rib. I was going to go in to see a doctor today, but I had to get the competition done first,” Rose explained. “It’s really not as bad as it sounds.” She looked up at Mycroft nervously, trying to gauge his reaction from subtle facial cues. “And John shouted at me already.”

John snorted in disbelief as she tried, yet again, to dismiss the seriousness of her choices but said nothing further. The look on Mycroft’s face told him that they were in perfect accord on Rose’s lapse in judgment and frankly, even if he had already shouted at her, it wouldn’t hurt Rose to hear what an idiot she’d been multiple times.

“Oh, _shouting_ was there? I can promise you that there will be a great deal more than shouting whenever you are deemed healed by a medical professional. My god Rose,” Mycroft muttered, shaking his head. “You never, ever learn, do you? No matter, I shall continue to teach you over and over and _over_ again until it finally manages to lodge itself in that mind of yours. Safety is _non-negotiable_. Do you have any idea the amount of damage you could have done to yourself? Internal bleeding, puncture lung, I’m certain Dr. Watson can recite any number of other possibilities of medical concern that might have arisen.”

Rose’s eyes shifted downward but Mycroft was having none of that. Reaching out to grasp her chin, he lifted her head so she would be forced to look at him. “Eyes on me, Rosenwyn.” He waited until she complied before continuing. “This has to be one of the stupidest things you have ever done, and considering the trials and tribulations of your childhood that is saying something, sister mine. You would try the patience of a saint and I am certainly no saint. You are in _very_ serious trouble.”

“Is it safe for me to come in yet?” A new voice called before moving the curtain. “I’m Leon and I’m supposed to take the patient to x-ray if this is a good time.” Everyone had been a bit hesitant to come to the room, considering all the shouting and the number of people that had accumulated. Leon had taken the departure of the policeman as a good sign and went into the breach… er, room.

“Now would be a perfect time!” Rose happily said. Anything to get out from under Mycroft’s glare!

\------------------------------------------------

“Well, you do in fact have three broken ribs,” Dr. Colburn announced. He snuck a side-eye glance at the three glowering men in the room, wondering once more about his patient’s safety. If look could kill…, as the clichéd saying went.

“You haven’t met the cohort,” Rose stated after catching the doctor’s look. “They’re not a bad lot. My brothers, Mycroft and Sherlock, who always feel the need to swoop down in all their glaring glory whenever I manage to bang myself up,” she explained. “Other one is Dr. John Watson, Sherlock’s best friend and flatmate who lives next door to me and, quite obviously, considers me his patient.”

“A particularly unwilling and uncooperative one at that,” John added. “And you should thank your lucky stars you didn’t have multiple breaks within those ribs!” The complications that could have come from flail chest or the puncturing of organs such as her lung or spleen were very serious.

“Dr. Watson is quite right,” Dr. Colburn said with a nod. “You’re very lucky that the breaks of ribs 7-9 are clean and there is only a single break per rib. I’m afraid you’ll need to rest for six weeks, and truly rest. Get plenty of sleep, no strenuous activity, and use ice and heat as needed to help with the pain. I’ll prescribe you some pain killers as well and I’m certain Dr. Watson will take very good care of you at home.”

John nodded. “She’ll do exactly as she’s told,” he assured the other doctor. “Won’t you Rose?” He gave her a look that promised retribution if she didn’t take this seriously.

“I will,” Rose sincerely assured them all. “Despite all evidence to the contrary I don’t like being injured, nor do I want another punctured lung.”

“Very good! I’ll send your prescription to the pharmacy here and have the nurses begin your discharge paperwork. Check in regularly with your doctor to make certain your ribs are healing properly,” Dr. Colburn advised. He gave her a smile, looked suspiciously at the still glowering men, and then departed the room for the final time.

“Only you, Rosenwyn,” Mycroft said with a sigh when the doctor departed. “Only you can damage yourself enough for six weeks recovery in an office job; an _office job_!”

“Well, practice too,” Rose grumbled, her face flushing with embarrassment. As if she would actually injure herself at the office to such an extent without the assistance of repeated dropping and that cow Sally Donovan’s chair tampering!

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Yes, I do not need any help at all recalling that you competed yesterday with one broken rib, Rosenwyn. You have outdone yourself this time, sister mine.”

Rose sighed heavily, her face burning red. “If I rest up this afternoon, can we still go out for dinner?” she asked Mycroft hopefully.

A chorus of “NO!” greeted her request.

“Little girls who hurt themselves and don’t bother to seek medical attention or tell someone about it don’t get celebratory dinners,” Mycroft said firmly. “London’s best eateries are not going anywhere, we shall find another time when you are healed more and better behaved.”

Oh how she _hated_ it when he said things like that! Would he ever lose the ability to make her feel like a naughty five-year-old despite whatever age she happened to be? Damn Mycroft and his… Mycroftness. Rose turned her head away and grumbled something under her breath; a mere whisper.

A dark eyebrow arched. “Would you care to repeat that?” Mycroft asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“Not really, no,” Rose muttered. She had been hoping he wouldn’t hear her softly utter the word _dick_ but apparently he had. _Note to self_ , she thought, _think the words, not say them_. Although, given who her brothers were, they’d probably know from the subtle shift of her eyes or the manner in which she held a cup of coffee that she’d cursed at them in her head.

“Mm hmm,” Mycroft murmured. “I thought not. Honestly Rose, try and mitigate the trouble you’re in, not add to it.”

“Why do you always have to say things like that?” Rose asked, her face still red with embarrassment. “‘Little girls blah blah blah.’ I’m not a stupid child, My.” She shifted her gaze to her hands, or at least attempted to. Mycroft had other ideas, and she allowed him to tip her head up to look into her eyes.

“I think you only dislike it because you know it’s true. I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t deserved,” Mycroft pointed out. “You cannot sincerely argue that your actions were responsible and adult in this situation and you know that. The fact that you don’t like being called to task is no reason to take your frustrations out on me in such a disrespectful manner.”

“I just… it’s like you’re goading me when you do that!” Rose exclaimed.

“Because you have a very hard head, sister mine, and I must use every avenue of persuasion to force you to acknowledge the gravity of your misbehavior,” Mycroft countered. “Consider yourself very lucky, Rose, that you won’t be getting your mouth washed out. It is only in consideration of your present condition that you are receiving a pass in this case. I promise you that I shall not be so lenient if there is a next time.”

Rose nodded. “I’m sorry,” she told him sincerely. “And I understand. May I also point out that I think it’s morphine they are pumping into me? Can’t be held responsible for my actions.” A little smile accompanied that statement, drawing a slight smile from her big brother as well.

“I just wish you’d have a care for yourself, my dear,” Mycroft said softly. He pressed a kiss to the top of her curly head. “I must return to work but I will check in on you later Rose. Please be a cooperative patient and rest as you should. I’d prefer to keep you around, even if I do worry about you constantly.”

\-----------------------------------------------------

“Not a word of complaint from you,” John said firmly. “Not a single-” he paused to kiss her forehead. “Solitary--” John kissed her nose this time. “Word.” This time his lips brushed Rose’s gently as he enveloped her in his arms.

“This has to be against the Geneva Conventions,” Rose murmured when the kiss broke. “Using undue influence and bribery in such a manner so as to gain my cooperation.”

John laughed, his whole face lighting up. “The Geneva Conventions are for prisoners of war, love. You’re merely a prisoner of Baker Street, and thus exempted from protection by those coveted guidelines. You’re _my_ prisoner, though, if we’re going to be specific.”

“Still no coverage under the Conventions?” Rose inquired, gazing up at him with a cheeky smile.

“I’m going to start a war, take you both prisoner, and completely ignore the Geneva Conventions if you don’t stop snogging on the stairs and pick a flat to enter by the time I reach ten,” Sherlock threatened. “One…”

Rose snorted with laughter, cringing mere seconds later at the discomfort her laughter caused. Sadly it had _not_ been morphine in her IV drip. “We’re being counted at John. If he makes it to ten, we’re in really big trouble,” she teased, managing a weak smile as the wave of pain passed.

“Two, three, four!” Sherlock counted quickly.

“Getting a little anxious there mate? That’s the fastest count I’ve ever heard,” John snickered. “Pajamas for you love, and then bring a pillow with you to our flat. I’m going to tuck you in on the couch and even make you some coffee.”

“Five, six, seven, eight!”

Chuckling, John gently turned Rose in the direction of her front door, sending her on her way with a gentle smack on her bottom before unlocking his own door.

“You really must refrain from doing that,” Sherlock commented as he half-stomped inside the flat. “And before you point out to me that I said I approved this relationship, which I do in fact remember quite clearly, it is not for that reason that I urge restraint. I need to sweep both flats for listening devices and cameras. Mycroft will take things better if he doesn’t learn about it from a cleverly placed camera.”

That stopped John short and he prayed to whoever might be listening that there was no camera on the stairs.

“There isn’t,” Sherlock said, as if reading his mind. Immediately he began searching the flat from top to bottom, starting with the bookcase.

“Are all your books going on the floor?” Rose asked when she appeared in their sitting room. “That’s not a very nice way to treat your books you know.”

“He’s systematically destroying our flat in order to find and remove any of Mycroft’s hidden devices,” John explained. “I’m merely relieved he’s doing it for a good cause and not boredom.” He cringed as the entire bookcase fell over, taking Sherlock with it.

“A little assistance John,” Sherlock called.

“If you toppled it over, you can pick it up,” John retorted as he tucked Rose in snuggly on the couch. It was, thankfully, further away from the ensuing disaster on the other end of the flat.

Rose frowned, peering around John, only to find her brother underneath the bookcase. She had half expected him to be standing beside it, glaring petulantly at the piece of furniture for daring to fall over while he was abusing it. “Oh,” she said quietly, frowning. “That was slightly unexpected.”

“I’m being stabbed, it’s painful, and this is a surprisingly heavy bookcase that I will from now on think twice about scaling,” Sherlock assured them.

“You’re being stabbed by the hardcovers? Told you it wasn’t nice to treat books that way. They’re just having a bit of revenge,” Rose teased.

“JAWWWWWWWWN!” Sherlock shouted, drawing his flatmate’s name out.

“For god sakes,” the doctor grumbled, finally turning to see what Sherlock was whining about now. For a moment he could only stare at the sight of the bookcase, fully fallen over on its front, revealing bits and pieces of his flatmate. An arm clad in a purple button-up sticking out one side, a socked foot on the other and a mop of curly hair just barely visible beneath the dark wood.“Serves you right! I ought to leave you there, see if it teaches you not to destroy the flat ever again! Clearly it’s had enough and taken its revenge.”

“GET ME OUT JAWWWWWWWN!” The half-demand, half-plea came out in a petulant tone. “Damn books. I could have damage to my spine, where is my faithful assistant who happens to be a doctor when I need him?”

“Colleague,” John pointed out. “I’m your colleague. I work with you, not for you.”

“Fine, where is my blogger who happens to be a doctor while I lie here battered and broken?” Sherlock amended.

“This is where you get it from, isn’t it?” John asked, turning to look at Rose. “The whinging and dramatics, he taught you all that, didn’t he?”

Rose grinned. “I’ll never tell! Though actually do help him up, I’m sure he’s learned his lesson by now. Right Sherlock?”

Before the disgruntled consulting detective could fire off a suitably scathing response to his impertinent little sister, John began hefting the bookcase up. When there was enough room to do so, Sherlock wiggled out from under it and promptly held out three small cameras. “A thank you wouldn’t be remiss,” he commented, a bit miffed that it had taken John so long to come to his aid.

“Apologize to the books first,” Rose suggested with a mischievous grin. “You hurt their feelings. Books are _very_ sensitive creatures Sherlock. Go on; tell them you’re sorry for manhandling them.”

In lieu of an apology to the books, Sherlock merely tossed the cameras in her direction, smirking when they pelted Rose and caused her to squeal in alarm.

\----------------------------------------------------

“I don’t know whether to be impressed at how seriously he takes the matter of our safety, or concerned and slightly angry,” Rose decided. There on the coffee table were a total of fifteen cameras found throughout the two flats.

“Just about the only place without cameras was the loo,” Sherlock admitted. “I think he’s upped the number in the hopes that I may find and disable one, then proceed to assume that I have taken care of the issue.

John looked at Sherlock in alarm. Were there cameras in his bedroom? Was Mycroft Holmes aware of each and every sexual conquest since he moved in? Granted, his sex life had never been particularly rigorous during that time, but he wasn’t a monk either! “How many of these were in my bedroom? And how long has it been since you swept for them last?”

“Two. One looking towards the door, the other looking towards the window, neither of which had your bed under surveillance. I’m fairly certain that Mycroft would have no interest in your sex life whatsoever, provided you don’t bring a terrorist or other person of great interest to him back here and into your room,” Sherlock replied. He was trying to be reassuring but the look on John’s face told him he really hadn’t been.

“Though I am certain after the events of this morning that you will no longer have any need to bring other women into our flat,” Sherlock continued on. “I’m sure it goes without saying that you will be faithful to my sister.”

John swore under his breath. “Sherlock… Geez, this really isn’t… You have no idea what the meaning of awkward is, do you?” He pinned his flatmate with a hard look, trying to telepathically communicate that this wasn’t the time or place to make threats about what would be done to him if he dared to hurt Rose in any way.

Sherlock huffed, looking offended. “Of _course_ I know the definition of ‘awkward.’ It is an adjective with two meanings. The first is causing difficulty or hard to deal with; something that is awkward in the physical sense. The second meaning is to cause or feel embarrassed or inconvenienced. Please trust me when I say John that your embarrassment or inconvenience means very little to me when we are discussing my sister. My _beloved_ sister,” he reminded the man.

“Your beloved sister is going to cuff you upside the head in a minute if you don’t hush,” Rose warned. “For heaven sakes Sherlock, that is something for John and I to discuss and decide. Monogamy is not settled by the brother of one of the involved parties.”

Dark eyebrows quickly rose and disappeared underneath unruly curls and Sherlock’s mouth fell open. He looked, essentially, scandalized. “You do not expect John to remain faithful to you?! Do you not consider yourself worthy of faithfulness from your partner? Rose, you--”

“SHERLOCK!” Rose shouted, immediately wincing. She tried very hard to hide the annoyance from her tone as she carefully crafted her response. “I do consider myself worthy of faithfulness,” she assured him. “But what I am trying to say is that it is my concern, not yours, brother dear. I will ask John to cleave only unto me when I’m ready to do so, not before, and all by myself. Though frankly, knowing John, I’m pretty sure that goes without saying.”

“Look, mate, this is really new and Rose and I haven’t had a chance to talk about anything at all,” John added, his tone quiet and sincere. “While what happens between Rose and I is between us and us alone, I want you to know Sherlock that I will treat Rose with great respect. Not just because she’s your sister and you’re my best friend,” John cautioned. “But because she deserves respect and will give it to me in return.”

Rose blushed prettily at his words. Immediately she reached for John’s hand and squeezed it gently. “Let us sort ourselves out a bit, alright? I adore you for all your indignant outrage on my behalf though Sherlock. Honestly, you are the best of brothers,” she said, giving him a bright smile. “But we have no idea what we’re doing yet.”

Sherlock nodded slowly, his expression grave. “Then perhaps now would be a good time to go over the rules, so that you have a starting point,” he decided.

“Rules?!” Rose and John said in unison.

“Yes, there will be rules. Both of you be quiet and listen,” Sherlock ordered sternly. “First and foremost, The Work comes first. I don’t care what you’re doing together, when I need my blogger I shall have him.”

John opened his mouth to remind Sherlock that he did not come at the man’s beck and call (most of the time!) but a firm squeeze of his hand from Rose warned him to think better of it.

“Bring her home at reasonable hours of the night and always respect _her_ work the way you would respect ours John,” Sherlock continued.

“When you engage in sexual relations you will please refrain from doing so on the kitchen table. It would disturb if not completely ruin my experiments. Really, just keep all sexual relations in your flat Rose, so I don’t have to hear them. I would like to pretend that such activities will never occur,” he admitted.

“This is a nightmare,” Rose muttered. She could feel the warmth of embarrassment on her face. “It has to be a nightmare.”

“Clothing will remain on and properly in place while I am in the room,” Sherlock continued on, ignoring her mutterings.

“So you’re not going to walk around in a sheet with no pants on anymore?” John asked with a chuckle.

“John I am being entirely serious here. I don’t want to see either of you together in various stages of undress with your hands all over one another. If you wouldn’t do it in front of your sister, don’t do it in front of _me_ with _my_ sister!” Sherlock gave his flatmate a warning look, as if daring John to disagree with such a reasonable request.

Rose’s face was completely scarlet by this time she readily turned her face away from Sherlock, uncertain whether to laugh, cry, or hit him. His concern was touching and sweet, but he was embarrassing her- both her and John- and it was really enough. “Please, Sherlock. We will be respectful of your boundaries, but can we end this conversation now? Before my face bursts into flames at the fact that my _brother_ is essentially dictating the terms of my presently non-existent sex life?”

This time it was Sherlock’s turn to go completely red faced. “Fine,” he said with a petulant huff. “But I reserve the right to change those rules at any time I see fit. I also reserve the right to do horrible experiments with John’s dead body if he hurts you.”

“Terms accepted,” John spoke up. He offered his hand to Sherlock to shake on it as a man of honor. He certainly had no plans to do anything inappropriate with Rose, let alone in front of Sherlock, but if it made his best friend feel better to have his word on that, John would readily give it.

“At least both of us know what we’re getting into,” Rose reflected thoughtfully after the men shook hands. “No surprises for you about what my brothers are like and no surprises for me about what your flatmate is like.”

Though his face was still faintly red, John couldn’t help returning her smile. “Acute embarrassment aside, I think that went reasonably well.” He paused a moment and then said very softly, “Cleave only unto you, hm? Quite dramatic, that.”

“The formality of it seemed appropriate in that moment. I like fancy words and words from eras gone by; you know this already,” Rose told him with a pout. “Don’t tease.”

“Alright, I won’t tease this time,” he relented. “But what I am going to do is tuck you into bed. Rest, rest, rest, is all that’s on your agenda at the moment. You’ll stay here, in case you need anything, so head into your brother’s room and I’ll be right there with some ice. Sherlock, you’ll have to--”

“Sleep on the lie-low, yes. Thank you John for so punctiliously illuminating the obvious for me,” Sherlock interrupted impatiently. He artfully dodged a pillow tossed his way before heading into the kitchen to check on an experiment as Rose exited the sitting room.

When John entered the room a few moments later with a pack of ice, Rose was already under the covers. “I brought arnica cream as well,” he told her, holding up the items in his hands. With great care he lifted her pajama top only as much as was necessary to expose her injured side and oh-so-carefully ghosted the healing cream onto her bruises.

“I have to say, I admire your strength,” John said quietly. “You must have been in significant pain the last few days and been in moderate pain for the few weeks preceding this one. Only a person of great strength soldiers on like that, as though she doesn’t have a care in the world but her goals. I admire that.”

Rose smiled softly, watching him doctor her. He was so skilled that she hardly felt a thing. “That almost sounds like a compliment,” she murmured when he capped the cream.

“Oh, it very much is. But while I admire your strength, I’m still going to spank the daylights out of you for being a complete idiot. A rather adorable idiot, but an idiot all the same,” John said firmly. He leaned over to kiss her softly, just a quick brush of his lips against hers, to soothe the sting from his words.

She let out a sigh. “I’ve gathered that, yeah.” Rose winced slightly when he placed the ice pack on her side and rested her hand against it to keep it in place.

“You’ll be alright,” John promised as he gently moved curls away from her face. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Whether he meant her bum or her side Rose wasn’t entirely sure, but she took comfort from his words all the same.

 


	2. Mycroft & the Key to Good Recovery

After departing the hospital, Greg Lestrade had returned to his department, a grim look of determination on his face. It was a look many of his officers knew and it did not bode well for the person who had earned it. It was his, ‘I’m angry and I’m going to do something about it’ face, indicating someone was in for an official reprimand and dressing down.

He was a good boss, an excellent mentor to new officers, a fair but firm head of a department, and a man with an excellent sense of humor that rarely, if ever, held a grudge. If someone’s mistake could be easily correct with a stern look and a firm warning rather than making it an official part of someone’s record, he much preferred to handle things in that manner. He firmly believed that those cases were learning opportunities and to crack down hard on every little mistake would be counterproductive and breed resentment. When Greg Lestrade put his foot down about something, everyone took notice because only a serious mistake or offense would truly earn his ire. And Sally Donovan had more than earned it this time.

For more than an hour, roughly coinciding with Rose’s x-rays and scoldings at St. Bart’s, Greg sat in his office, thinking long and hard while trying to reign in his temper. Despite her faults, Sally Donovan really was a good officer and they’d done a lot of good work together. He didn’t want to lose her skills permanently and in reality, a cruel prank wasn’t enough to justify a transfer anyway. Still, something would have to be done.

Getting up from his desk, Greg opened the door of his office and locked eyes with Sally. “My office,” he directed. Leaving the door open he sat on the edge of his desk, a stern look on his face that only grew when Sally closed the door and took a seat. “So,” he began. “Was I not clear enough on Wednesday? Because I can’t think of one good reason why you would blatantly disregard something I told you to do, I must have been misunderstood. Was I unclear? Were you confused?” An eyebrow arched as he paused and waited for an answer.

Sally swallowed hard and shook her head. “No sir, you were very clear and I was not confused. I apologize. That was what I forgot on Wednesday night, to tell the janitor not to try and ‘fix’ the chair after all.”

“Alright, so not only did it conveniently slip your mind and add to a co-worker’s already existing injuries, but you sought the assistance of the janitor in your childish little prank war. This wasn’t just a prank Sally. This is intentionally cruel,” Greg scolded. “Now I know you didn’t realize she was already injured- apparently no one did-” He paused to shake his head. “But that little stunt could have injured her all the same. If she had fallen funny on her wrist it might have snapped; she could have hit the floor hard enough with her head to get a concussion. Any number of things could have happened.”

“I realize that sir and I apologize. I didn’t think it through very well when I set that up,” Sally admitted, sounding rather ashamed of herself. “But I wasn’t actually trying to injure her.”

“No, just embarrass her, right?” Greg asked. When she gave a little nod he continued on. “What you two were doing before was childish but overall harmless until the witness statements were tampered with. I asked you both to stop, I sanctioned you both--”

“Funny, I was the only one in the archives yesterday,” Sally commented, an edge of defiance in her tone.

Greg rolled his eyes. “I was trying to keep it unofficial for you both. While you got to spend some time being bored but still getting paid for your time here, I notified Rose’s brother of the incident and asked him to handle it. I’m certain it was very uncomfortable for her to be called to task by her brother at the age of twenty, if not a bit humiliating as well, whether or not that was accompanied by...” He cleared his throat. “A rather traditional form of discipline.”

Sally was confused for a moment before it dawned on her what he might possibly mean, which indicated that her young co-worker had not been handed over to Sherlock but to the other one and might actually have gotten into trouble. The thought of it was satisfying, to say the least.

“Yeah, try not to look so pleased about Sally,” Greg snapped at her. “Rose is twenty, readily assumed responsibility for her actions and stopped what she was doing. You, on the other hand, are a sergeant, reluctantly admitted responsibility and didn’t bother to take notice that I told you to ‘stop.’ And I don’t really care if you forgot to tell the janitor to forget about the chair or not, that was not a harmless prank. I’m incredibly disappointed Sally. You’re better than this; I _know_ you are.”

That, perhaps more than anything hit home with Sally and her eyes shifted away from her boss. “I apologize,” she said quietly. “And I mean that. I didn’t actually want to injure her and I am sorry that I did. Will she be alright?”

Greg nodded. “She’ll live, provided her brothers and John Watson don’t off her in the meantime,” he said with a slight chuckle. He quickly sobered though and let out a heavy sigh. “Given the seriousness of this, the fact that you deliberately did something that might hurt a co-worker and disregarded directives from me, I can’t let this go with a day of enforced boredom. This will go on your official record Sally and there’s really no way around that. Additionally I will offer you a choice: two week suspension without pay or an accumulation of a month’s hours in the archives. If you’re not needed up here, you’d be there.”

Sally took a deep breath and gave herself a moment to consider her options. “I’d prefer to work in the archives here, sir, rather than forego two weeks pay. I’m sorry it came to this,” she said sincerely.

“I am too,” Greg admitted. “Monday then you can start in the archives unless I need you up here. From now on, please try to get along with Rose. She’s not a bad kid and does really good work. She’s been a great help around here… and she’s not Sherlock,” he added.

“I’ll do my best,” Sally told him sincerely.

\------------------------------------------------------

“Tea?” John asked his flatmate while pouring himself a cup. It was getting on towards supper time and felt like the perfect time to have some tea and contemplate what he might make or what they preferred for takeaway.

“Mmm.”

That, as John well knew, could indicate either a yes or a no, but he was willing to bet it was a yes this time. He poured a second cup of tea and set it down by Sherlock, well out of the way of the microscope and whatever potentially dangerous thing his flatmate was doing. He spared a glance at the sleeping figure on the couch, a smile settling on his face. Rose; _his_ Rose. His _insane_ Rose. That girl was going to keep him on his toes and make his life a whirlwind.

“I still can’t believe you’re perfectly okay with this,” John murmured. “You’ve always discouraged anyone she’s shown interest in at all.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat up with a sigh. “Her previous suitors were idiots,” he explained. “You’re reasonably intelligent, care about her, and have already demonstrated that you won’t let her do whatever she feels like doing if it puts her safety in jeopardy. Those are all very good qualities that I would look for in any potential partner for Rose.

“She needs a partner John. A real partner, in every way, but one that understand she needs a firm hand now and again,” he continued. “Somehow I don’t think her impulsiveness and general disregard for her own safety will ever dissipate with age and I, for one, feel better knowing you understand how to handle her without it making you see her as a lesser partner in a relationship.”

John stared at his flatmate, unable to help feeling a bit shocked. They never talked like this. They talked about loads of things, sometimes things that involved more information than either of them was comfortable with, but not like _this_. This was an important moment in their friendship and John couldn’t help being a little bit floored that Sherlock placed so much trust him when it came to Rose.

“Mycroft is the one you need to worry about. They’re different than Rose and I are,” Sherlock commented.

“Because you two have been partners in crime at various times when she was growing up?” John asked, grinning.

Sherlock nodded. “I may put my foot down when needed with her, but yes; we’ll always be co-conspirators of Mycroft’s discomfort. But I don’t consider her _mine_ the way Mycroft does. As I said, they are different. They fit parameters.”

John wasn’t entirely certain he knew what Sherlock meant by that, but he merely nodded and drank some of his tea. Sherlock would elaborate if he felt so inclined. “Any advice on the Mycroft front?” Normally Sherlock was the last person John would seek advice from, particularly in terms of social cues and dating, but this was one area in which Sherlock could give him vital information in those areas.

“When Mycroft resists- and he _will_ resist- be patient with them both. Do not under any circumstances pressure Rose to choose between the two of you,” Sherlock warned. “It would cause her great pain to be forced to do that and I don’t think you would emerge victorious in that situation. If anything, it might make Rose feel inclined to disappear again and I would avoid that at all costs.”

Surprisingly enough John didn’t feel injured that Sherlock felt Rose would not choose him over Mycroft. In fact, that gave him tremendous insight into the complexity of the relationship between the eldest and littlest Holmes.

“Considering how well she and Mycroft have healed the rifts that existed before her disappearance, Rose is unlikely to do anything that would jeopardize their relationship, no matter how much she might in fact love you,” Sherlock went on. “If it takes some time for Mycroft to warm up to the idea of your relationship, and you really care about her as much as I believe you do, be patient. She cannot bear to truly disappoint Mycroft.”

John looked thoughtful as he digested his best friend’s words. “Something must have gone very, _very_ wrong between them for her to disappear for eighteen months.”

“Rose was very hurt, far more than even I realized, and Mycroft was rather oblivious to it,” Sherlock admitted. “From what I’ve gathered, she left to prove to Mycroft that she was not all the things he accused her of. I’m fairly certain her time away wasn’t all fun and full of adventure, considering the way she hedges around the subject and offers little in terms of information outside of her stays in Luxembourg and Geneva.”

His gaze flickered over to the couch where Rose still lay sleeping. John felt his heart contract painfully at the thought of Rose enduring a self-enforced exile and the sort of hurt she must have felt to do so. “Thank you for telling me this,” he told Sherlock sincerely. “I won’t put her in that situation. I’d much rather step back, if necessary, than cause a serious rift between Rose and Mycroft again.”

Sherlock nodded, looking pleased. “Mycroft is overly sentimental when it comes to Rose, so be patient with him as well. Though that may be incredibly difficult, given that Mycroft is _Mycroft_.”

John chuckled. “I’ll do my best Sherlock; you’ve got my word of honor on that.”

“Excellent! Though do remember that it wouldn’t do to cross me either. I will be watching,” Sherlock warned.

The doctor wasn’t entirely certain whether or not he should be alarmed by that statement or comforted by it but wisely chose not to ask for what exactly it was Sherlock would be watching for.

\---------------------------------------------------

‘Rose isn’t answering her phone. M’

‘I’m aware. She is sleeping. Why are you bothering me? SH’

‘I shan’t be able to come to Baker Street until tomorrow afternoon. M’

‘The world weeps with great sorrow at this pronouncement. SH’

‘Just pass the message along to Rose, if you please. M’

‘And if I don’t please? SH’

Mycroft rolled his eyes and sighed as he typed a response. ‘I suppose “Because I said so” would not be a sufficient reason? M’

‘Nope. SH’

‘Tell Rose because she’ll feel forgotten if I don’t show this evening. M’

‘I suppose. Only for her, mind you. SH’

‘Thank you. M’

‘Now leave me alone already. SH’

“Arguing with your brother again?” John asked, looking over at his flatmate with a grin.

Sherlock scowled. “How did you know?”

“You have a particularly heavy-handed texting habit when you’re arguing with Mycroft,” John shrugged. “I see things too.”

“Mmm. Perhaps there’s hope for you yet,” Sherlock replied sarcastically.

\--------------------------------------------------------

Mycroft arrived just past noon the next day, opening the door of the flat without knocking first, as per usual, earning a glare from Sherlock.

“Knocking would be nice,” John commented with a sigh. “I’m about to make tea. Would you like a cup Mycroft?”

“I’m sure it would be but it’s unlikely to happen,” Mycroft replied. He placed a brightly wrapped package on the kitchen table and nodded at the doctor’s offer of tea before turning his gaze to the littlest Holmes. Rose was stretched out on the couch, propped up against one of the arms, sound asleep. “Some things clearly never change,” Mycroft stated with a put-upon sigh. “I’m not certain if I should be comforted by that fact or annoyed.”

“You know how she is. “It’s lonely all alone in the bedroom; I’ll be so good if you let me be out here!”” The consulting detective mimicked his sister’s voice. “John assured me that as long as she is resting, relaxing, and sleeps as much as her body needs, there’s little difference between the couch and the bed. Since you weren’t here to tie her to the bed, I deferred to John’s medical expertise.”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft hissed, giving his brother an indignant scowl. “That is quite enough.”

“Tie her to the bed?” John repeated. “This sounds like I story I need to hear.” He passed Mycroft a cup of tea before leaning back against the counter, giving the Holmes boys an expectant look. There just _had_ to be a hilarious story connected to that statement, as most of the stories of Rose’s childhood were.

“The circumstances warranted it,” Mycroft stated.

Sherlock laughed, a devilish smile settling on his face. “Mother didn’t find that circumstances warranted it all, even if Rose _did_ have a habit of wandering and you _were_ rather desperate. In fact, if I remember correctly, Mother even threatened you Mycroft.”

“Sherlock that is _enough_ ,” Mycroft growled.

The consulting detective was not to be deterred by Mycroft’s growling and dark look. “Something along the lines of ‘If you ever do that again, I will take you into your own office and bend you over your own desk for a hiding you won’t soon forget.’ Sound about right, brother mine?” Sherlock smirked delightedly until Mycroft, whose face was particularly red, slapped him upside the head.

“My, why are you hitting Sherlock?” Rose called sleepily from the couch.

Mycroft quickly turned his attention away from Sherlock and crossed the room to Rose. He leaned down to kiss the top of her head before tucking a few curls behind her ear. “How are you feeling? Are you being a cooperative patient for the good doctor?”

“I’m tired a lot, but I think that’s the pain medication,” Rose admitted. “And I’m being so cooperative you wouldn’t even recognize me.”

“For the moment anyway,” Mycroft challenged, arching an eyebrow at her.

Rose blushed and let out a sigh. “Alright, so I wasn’t the best behaved patient in the world last time around, but I’ve resolved to change my ways.”

“Really? Wouldn’t that be something,” he murmured. “But six weeks is a very long time. Are you certain you’ll last that long, sister mine? I’m not entirely convinced you will so I’ve purchased something to help keep you occupied and cooperative.”

Her eyes lit up as she spotted the package on the table.

Mycroft returned to the kitchen to retrieve the present, and then sat at the end of the couch as she opened it.

The packaging was quickly torn away, revealing a most unexpected gift: four notebooks and a package of pens. Rose looked at them, trying to make sense of it. The pens were normal blue ink pens, the notebooks were the standard 3 subject, college rule variety in four different colors: yellow, blue, red, purple.

“Anthea assured me there were no pink notebooks in sight so we made do,” Mycroft told her. He smiled when she kicked out her legs and stretched them over his lap while continuing to examine her gift.

“I don’t get it,” Rose finally said. “Thank you? I mean… It’s notebooks and pens.” She set the items in her lap and looked at him expectantly.

“Open them,” Mycroft instructed. He watched as she flipped open the first notebook and saw the exact moment when her eyes widened with understanding.

Inside the red notebook was a single sentence, scrawled in Mycroft’s handwriting. _I will not take unnecessary risks with my health._ The purple notebook offered another sentence. _I will seek prompt medical attention if I am injured or suspect that I may be injured._ The yellow and blue notebooks also had a single sentence each: _No matter how old I am, safety will always be non-negotiable_ and _I will do everything my doctor tells me without question and without fail._

“Lines,” Rose said, looking up at her brother. “You want me to write lines.”

“I do indeed,” he confirmed with a nod. “One thousand lines per sentence, due in exactly one week from today. My master plan, sister mine, is to occupy your recovery time so that you actually rest properly and continue to feel cooperative. Each week of your recovery I will provide you with a new project to work on. For your first week, it is writing lines, which will hopefully burn these concepts in your stubborn brain.”

Rose’s jaw dropped. “Mycroft you can’t be serious. That’s _four thousand_ lines due in a week! I can’t possibly manage that in merely a week, not to mention it’s downright insulting!”

“That… is genius,” John commented quietly. What better way to ensure Rose didn't over exert herself and do what she was told in order to recover than by giving her projects to fill the time? She might actually learn something from the experience and think twice before foregoing proper medical care in the future.

His comment had not been quiet enough, however, as a red notebook was suddenly hurled in his direction. John ducked out of the way but it hit his cup of tea, spilling it all over the coffee table.

“And in the space of five minutes your resolution to behave yourself has disappeared,” Mycroft said with a sigh. He fixed Rose with a stern look, one that never failed to make her squirm a bit in her seat and today was no exception. “That was childish Rose; apologize.”

She sighed heavily before looking over at John. “I’m sorry… that I missed you with the notebook.”

Sherlock snorted in an attempt to stifle his laughter at Rose’s defiance. She was so skilled at pushing Mycroft’s buttons and had always able to do so much faster than he ever had. Not that it did her any good, but one could appreciate the effort.

Mycroft leaned forward and took Rose’s chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. “I am in no mood for your games young lady. Do not believe for a second that while I am forced to wait until your recovery period is over to give you the spanking you so richly deserve that that is a license to do whatever suits you. You _will_ behave, you _will_ rest properly, and you will do your projects and hopefully manage to learn something from them. If I could trust you to be a cooperative patient all on your own these measures wouldn’t be necessary Rosenwyn. Is that very clearly understood?”

The word ‘trust’ hit home and her eyes immediately began filling with tears. She had worked so hard to make him trust her again since she had come back! Was it really so easy to break that trust now?

Mentally Mycroft let out a curse. That had been a poor word choice, given their history, and Rose was never more sensitive than when she was ill or injured. “I didn’t mean trust like that Rose,” he said in a much gentler tone. Letting go of her chin he reached for her hands, squeezing them gently within his own.

When tears began sliding silently down her face, he knew hand-holding wouldn’t be enough. “Budge up,” he instructed. “So I can sit by you.” When she moved away from the arm of the couch a bit, Mycroft moved and sat there, letting her help herself to his lap. His arms wrapped around her and he rested his chin on curly head. “Poppet, even you must admit that you’re prone to misbehavior during periods of forced inactivity. It is not that you are untrustworthy, I just worry that boredom will cause you to make poor choices that will affect your recovery. Surely you can see the logic in that.”

“I admit there’s a small kernel of truth to that,” Rose said quietly as she began to dry her tears.

“More than a small kernel poppet. A very large kernel might be a more apt description,” Mycroft said gently. “I worry about you constantly, Rose and to be honest, those lines won’t do you any harm and will keep you out of a world of trouble. As will the other projects I shall give you.”

“What if I can’t finish them in time? I mean, a week is only 168 hours, that would be… twenty-four lines every single hour of that whole time,” Rose pointed out. “I’ve been sleeping a lot and I’m not sure if that’s going to change, at least not while I’m on pain medication.”

“That’s a good point,” Mycroft admitted. “You should be sleeping as much as you need to and it cannot be helped if your medication makes you tired. In that case I would refer to John’s opinion on the matter. If you are sleeping quite a bit but make a good faith effort, he will tell me and I will give you more time to complete the lines. Does that sound fair?”

Rose nodded. “Very fair and reasonable, I admit, though I reserve the right to call and whine at you because my hand hurts so terribly it just might fall off,” she added with a little smile.

“No worries there love, I’ll give you all the hand massages you need,” John promised, pleased that Rose had calmed down. She didn’t need to start sobbing when it was already a bit challenging for her to take good deep breaths.

“Sorry about the notebook,” Rose replied, blushing a bit. “I like to throw things.”

“So I’ve noticed over the last several months,” John said with a laugh. “It’s alright love, no harm done. Why don’t I start some coffee for you and you can get going on those lines while you’re still awake?”

Those were the magic words and Rose immediately perked up. Coffee could make even lines seem tolerable! At least for a few moments at any rate. “Sounds good,” she agreed before giving Mycroft a hug. “I love you, you know,” she said quietly.

“I do know, and I love you too poppet,” Mycroft whispered in return. “I’ll go and leave you to your project but please behave yourself, alright? There’s only one of you and for some odd reason I would like to keep you around.”

Rose smiled at him and was about to respond when Sherlock let out a loud “YES!” that caused everyone to turn their attention to him.

“Molly has tongues! I’ve been waiting ages for some. I’m off to St. Bart’s,” he announced with an unholy look of glee.

Mycroft shook his head. “You two will never change. Sherlock will always be happy about tongues belonging to the recently deceased and you, poppet, will always have me worried about your safety.”

“But you love us for it, so don’t complain too much,” Rose directed before kissing his cheek. “And we love you too.”

Sherlock paused in the middle of putting on his coat to give Rose a scandalized look. “I do not _love_ him.”

“Well I don’t love you either,” Mycroft retorted with a scowl.

“Oh for god sakes and you two think I’m a problem? Try growing up with the pair of you for role models,” Rose grumbled. “ _That_ , my dearest brothers, is a _real_ problem. It’s no wonder I can’t stay out of trouble for more than five minutes at a time!”

“… Are you suggesting your broken ribs and continual lapses in prioritizing your safety are our fault?” Mycroft asked incredulously.

Rose tried to affect a look of complete innocence, complete with an angelic little smile. “But of course!”

“We must not have given you enough spankings then, leaving you confused and bewildered about where the boundaries of appropriate behavior are and when you’ve crossed them. That can be rectified of course,” Mycroft offered. “Isn’t that right Sherlock?”

“It is indeed, brother dear. We really _should_ correct that. Thank you Rose for pointing out the fundamental flaw in our efforts to bring you up properly,” Sherlock responded gleefully. “I’ll get started on that as soon as I get back from St. Bart’s. I’ll take today’s spanking and you take tomorrow’s Mycroft? How many spankings do you think it will take to correct our mistake?”

“Oh hundreds surely,” Mycroft decided. “At least a year’s worth. We can reevaluate at that time. You’ll be sure to let us know when things become clear to you, won’t you Rose?”

Rose scowled darkly at her brothers. “I hate you both very passionately.”

“We hate you too,” Mycroft replied before dropping a kiss on top of her head. “Though we are of course teasing you now, don’t think for a second you’re not getting spanked for all this nonsense with your ribs.”

Her face flushed red with embarrassment and Rose let out a huff as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Still hate you.”

“How unfortunate, considering I’m rather attached to you, though god only knows why,” Mycroft murmured. “Your lines are waiting for you and I suggest you don’t dally my dear. You won’t like what happens if you don’t finish them in a timely manner.” He gave her a meaningfully _look_ and let the veiled threat hang in the air for her to ponder.

Rose responded in the manner completely appropriate to her character, age, wisdom and life experiences… by throwing a pillow at his head as Mycroft attempted to escape the flat and growling unhappily when she missed.


	3. A Recalcitrant Prisoner

NOTE: This chapter is dedicated to my friend Kate; she knows why.

\----------------------------------------------------

Rose sat the kitchen table, half taken over by her notebook she was writing lines in, and half by her brother who was examining some cold case files for Lestrade. Pausing for a moment, Rose shook out her writing hand before reaching for her mobile to take a photo.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock asked, looking over at her.

“Taking a photo of my very bruised and battered hand to send to My. Obviously,” Rose added with a smirk. Inserting the photo into a text, she added a sad face to the message itself and sent it off to the eldest Holmes.

“You’re not anywhere near having your lines done, are you?” Sherlock asked. “Trying to avoid a trip over Mycroft’s knee by being all adorably sad and visibly wearing the results of your hard work?” He really couldn’t resist teasing his sister who, even after all these years, was still rather cute when she blushed and scowled at the same time.

In all fairness, however, Sherlock had to admit that her fingers _were_ rather bruised from the hours she’d spent writing. The pens had left their marks, literally, all over that same hand, and he wasn’t surprised to see a bruise on her elbow from banging it on the table several times in the writing process.

“Nowhere near done, mores the pity,” Rose admitted with a sigh. “He will not be best pleased with me when he comes to visit in two days. I’ve only got two thousand and sixty-seven done.” Her mobile chirped and she paused to open it.

‘Ice it and then carry on, sister mine. I’m expecting 4000 legible lines come Saturday. M’ After reading the text, Rose closed the mobile and slumped down in her seat. That only lasted for a few seconds, however, before the poor posture began to cause her pain and Rose quickly sat up again.

“You might get more done if you weren’t listening to whatever it is that passes for music on your ipod,” Sherlock pointed out. “Your song selections worry me.” He paused to listen to some of the lyrics from the currently playing song, his ears easily catching strands of the song from her ear buds. “What the hell is that?” he asked, confusion written across his face. “I want to be the grave and _earth_ you?”

The youngest Holmes shrugged. “It’s Lady Gaga and it’s a brilliant song. That’s just her way, to be a bit odd like that.”

Sherlock’s eyebrow quirked. “I don’t think anyone calling herself ‘Lady Gaga’ is synonymous with the word ‘brilliant.’”

“Oh shut up,” Rose ordered, kicking his shin. “No one asked for your opinion.”

“I never need to be asked,” Sherlock replied, kicking her in return. “My opinions are superior to everyone else’s. Besides, you’re my sister and it’s my job to educate you.” Immediately a kicking war commenced with both siblings seemingly intent on bruising one another’s shins and inflicting the most damage possible without using anything more than their legs and without ever leaving their chairs.

The glaring and kicking continued in silence for several minutes until a loud masculine “ _Ow_!” was heard by John as he entered the flat. Carrying Tesco bags in both hands he entered the kitchen to find Rose smirking delightedly as Sherlock sat with his leg drawn up onto the chair, rubbing his knee.

“Heels are not allowed in the kicking game. You kick with your toes or the balls of your feet, you do not jam someone’s knee with the heel of your foot,” Sherlock informed his sister with a scowl. “That _hurt_.”

“You’re so much bigger than I am, so I need to use all available strategies to conquer you,” Rose informed him in an imperious tone, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Don’t whinge just because I’m more creative than you are and possess deadlier feet.”

“Keeping yourselves entertained and reasonably out of trouble I see,” John chuckled. “Try not to draw blood from each other, alright? There are moments when I feel like a referee during your brief attempts to kill each other!”

“We haven’t killed each other yet and it’s been going on for years, referee or no referee,” Rose pointed out. “What did you get? Anything good? Can I cook tonight?” She got up from her chair to peek inside the shop bags.

Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes. “My dearest sister, your grammar is deplorable. It is _may_ I cook, not _can_ I, because obviously you can physically cook.”

“I object to your logic, brother dear,” Rose responded. “While I may have the know-how to cook and do it quite well if I do say so myself, the question is not _may_ I because I am asking my lovely doctor if he deems me physically well enough to cook again, hence the _can_ rather than _may._ ”

“The more important question here, far more important than grammar at any rate, is how far you are on those lines,” John interrupted the warring siblings. He left Rose looking through the shopping bags to examine her notebook. “Well, that’s definitely more than when I left, but not anywhere near the number Mycroft wants in two days. Are you sure you have the time to spare for cooking?”

Rose threw a pitiful look in John’s direction. “I haven’t done anything but sleep, eat and write lines--”

“And drink coffee,” Sherlock added, amid close examination of a photograph.

“And drink coffee,” she agreed, shooting her brother a _look_. “All day today and the day before that and the day before _that_. It’s just one little break. Even Mycroft can’t be disgruntled because I stopped to make food.”

“Alright,” John said with a nod. “But you keep both feet on the floor at all times, no reaching up above your head, and be _careful_. There’s no need to disrupt all the good resting you’ve done by over exerting yourself.”

“You’d best help me then. In case you haven’t noticed, most things are well over my head in terms of reaching at any rate,” Rose pointed out. “Sherlock, get out of my kitchen.” She poked his shoulder repeatedly, hoping to get him to move both himself and the files.

“Actually, it’s my kitchen,” Sherlock pointed out. “Not yours. You have your own and very cruelly never allow me in it. I could use the extra work space you know, horribly selfish child.” Yet despite his protests, Sherlock gathered up the cold case files and reorganized himself at the desk.

Rose rolled her eyes. “I love you, but you need to move your arse Sherlock so I can cook. John, will you do some sanitizing of… everything?” She shrugged and looked around the kitchen as if she might be able to see with her own eyes the bacteria and gunk lurking on the surfaces. “And I think a bit of music is in order to give us some energy.” Grabbing her ipod she skipped around to find a song she liked and put it on the dock so they could all hear it.

“I’m not listening to songs about grave diggers!” Sherlock called out to her.

“It wasn’t a song about grave diggers, it was a metaphor for sex… I think,” the youngest Holmes called back. She gave John a look that clearly said ‘what did I do to deserve him?’ and then smiled brightly.

Sherlock scowled but refrained from saying anything further that would only serve to make him feel more uncomfortable than he did at that moment. Naturally the fact that Michael Buble’s _Young at Heart_ now firmly drowned him out had no impact whatsoever on that decision! He decided to firmly ignore the occupants of the kitchen in favor of solving the case he held in his hands.

“So what sort of feast are you making for us tonight?” John asked as he scrubbed the kitchen table.

“Nothing too fancy, just a teriyaki chicken stir fry.” Rose busied herself getting everything ready before reaching up for the frying pan. The movement drew a wince from her that did not go unnoticed by John.

“Both feet flat on the floor love,” John said firmly, reaching up to get the pan for her. “And no reaching up like that. Someone can’t follow directions well.” This last he said teasingly while handing over the pan.

Rose blushed a bit as she turned back to the stove. “It’s hard to remember,” she admitted. “But for once I’m not actively attempting to injure myself further. That’s something, right?”

John chuckled and gently wrapped an arm around her waist, smiling as she leaned back against him. “It is something; a very good something in fact. And you’ll note I didn’t scold, I merely reminded you in a firm tone. You’ve been a remarkably delightful patient.” He kissed her cheek before moving away to let her continue cooking, enjoying watching her in her element- or one of them rather.

Before long, the chicken was browning and Rose began adding the rice and veggies, singing along with her music as she worked. She swayed back and forth on her feet, unable to completely remain still when her body called out for her to dance to one of her favorite Buble songs.

“You’re a carousel, you’re a wishing well and you light me up, when you ring my bell. You’re a mystery, you’re from outer space, you’re every minute of my every day. And I can’t believe that I’m your man! And I get to kiss you baby just because I can! Whatever comes our way--” Her melodic singing was interrupted with a very unharmonious squeak, accompanied by a jump that nearly sent the frying pan to the floor as John suddenly pressed a kiss to the hollow of her neck.

“Where did you come from?” she asked, turning around to face him. Her face was alight with laughter and Rose struggled not to giggle out loud at the feigned look of innocence on John’s face.

“I was just over there,” he told her, pointing at the table. “Weren’t you just telling me I could kiss you just because I can?” John wrapped both arms around her, pulling her close.

“I was singing, I wasn’t advertising,” Rose said softly, blushing just a bit. “And why kiss me there? It’s just my neck and you’re not a vampire last I checked.”

He shook his head, leaning his forehead against hers. “Nope, not a vampire, but your neck was pretty irresistible just then.”

Rose could only smile at his words, delighted that he found her irresistible. “Next you’ll tell me you’d kiss my toes or something. Which, you really shouldn’t, you don’t even know where they’ve been!”

The doctor’s eyebrow quirked at her words. “Well they better _not_ have been anywhere but here,” John commented warningly.

“They weren’t,” she assured him. “All of me has been right here, sleeping and writing lines.”

John let out a sigh of relief at her words. When it came to Rose, one never really knew for sure, especially when she was meant to be resting. “Good. That means I can do this without condoning bad behavior,” he murmured teasingly.

Before Rose could even reply, she felt the heady sensation of his lips meetings hers, a sensation that defied all logic and understanding. At once soft yet demanding, sweet yet full of fire, sensations rippled through her body. Rose closed the small space between them, her body seeming to mould perfectly with his. John cradled her closer still, his hands slowly traveling lower until they reached her bum, when he carefully lifted her up and onto the table.

He had really only meant to kiss her once, but after he began it seemed as though he couldn’t stop. While John could tell that Rose wasn’t the most experienced at kissing of the women he had dated there was something intoxicating about both it and her. She certainly wasn’t bad at it by any means, but there was a sweetness and innocence about it that made her all the more irresistible and summoned his protective nature to the fore.

When the kitchen went silent, aside from the ipod continuing to cycle through songs, Sherlock looked in that direction. He immediately recoiled upon seeing his flatmate and sister snogging and looked away as he fervently tried to delete the image from his mind. That was definitely not something he wanted to tuck away in Rose’s room of his mind palace!

Their kissing broke apart momentarily, leaving Rose a little weak in the knees and clinging to John’s arms for support. “God, you’re so good at this,” she whispered. A blush crossed her face and Rose hurriedly buried her face against his shoulder.

“You’re adorable when you blush like that,” John whispered.

Rose smiled and was about to reply when she was quite rudely interrupted by an annoyingly loud _beep beep beep beep_.

Taking a deep breath to prepare himself for what he might find when he turned around, Sherlock glanced in the direction of the kitchen and sighed. “Rose, dinner is on fire,” he announced with a resigned sigh.

“Dinner!” Her eyes wide with alarm, Rose turned to look at the stove top. Sure enough, their dinner was happily burning away, the smoke setting off the alarm’s obnoxious beeping. Before she could even slide off the table and attempt to put it out, John was at the stove fighting the small fire. The lid was popped onto the pan, which effectively killed the flames, and the entire pan was moved to an unused burner.

“Note to self, don’t snog while cooking,” Rose murmured. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sherlock move into the kitchen and turned to look at him, immediately cringing when she did.

Arms crossed over his chest, an indignant eyebrow arched, Sherlock glowered at them. “Did I or did I not ask you to refrain from sexual intercourse on the table?”

“I’m not sure if you’re aware, but kissing is not the same as sex Sherlock,” Rose began. She cringed at the dark look that comment earned her. “I would not have sex on a table with you anywhere nearby. Or on a table you’ve spent significant time with to be honest. Horribly unsafe.” Rose slide back to her feet and spared a glance for John.

“We got carried away,” John said apologetically. “I wasn’t actually going to have sex with your sister on the table.” He couldn’t help feeling like a teenager who’d brought his girlfriend back home after her curfew had passed, despite the fact that he was far from being a teenager anymore!

“This does not give me confidence that you’ll refrain from having sexual relations on this very table the second my back is turned and John I truly, _truly_ hate having that thought, let alone _image_ , in my head. It is unbearably painful so please stop trying so very hard to put it there!” Sherlock thundered.

Though he sounded angry, the look on his face was more akin to physical pain than anything else and Rose hated knowing she had put that look there. She promptly crossed the room and hugged him as tightly as she dared. When he responded in kind and dropped a kiss on top of her head, Rose let out a sigh of relief.

“Please make an attempt to refrain from behaving like randy teenagers from now on, will you? Or better yet, just do that in Rose’s flat, though preferably not while cooking dinner. I’m certain Mrs. Hudson would prefer you _not_ burn down the building,” Sherlock cautioned.

“Point taken,” John agreed rather sheepishly. “We’ll think things through a little more next time.”

Rose snickered, earning herself a look from John. “We? There was no _we_. You started it,” she teased.

“Well you didn’t end it, did you?” John laughed, smiling when she blushed yet again. One of these days he was going to have to keep count of how many times he could make her do that inside a 24 hour period.

Shaking his head at their antics, Sherlock let out a sigh. “Fight about whose fault the fire was later. Right now there are more important decisions to be made: Chinese or Angelo’s? Chinese I think; less likely that you’ll both to go all googly-eyed at each other over it.”

This time both John and Rose blushed while Sherlock smirked delightedly at their discomfort.

\---------------------------------------------------------

“Mycroft, I can explain,” Rose greeted her brother as he arrived at Baker Street for a visit two days later. She inwardly cringed at the nervousness that crept into her tone.

Crossing the room, Mycroft took a seat at the kitchen table and gave her a searching look, trying to decide just what it was she might have done. Then again, being Rose, it could be almost anything and thus the searching look was ultimately unfruitful. For an entire week he had not heard even a peep about trouble or uncooperative behavior and Mycroft anticipated a pleasant visit with his sister, during which he would collect her completed lines. Apparently that was not to be the case. With a longsuffering sigh that any parent would recognize as one simultaneously filled with exasperation and affection, he said, “Well, what have you done?”

“Rose, I’m off to surgery,” John interrupted. “I’ll be back at 9pm. Don’t forget to take your pain meds as you should, you’re due again in an hour.” Giving his patient a smile he shrugged on his coat before crossing the room to kiss her goodbye.

Rose leaned up a bit for a kiss and then, at the exact moment, realized they should _not_ kiss just then, because Mycroft was there and he didn’t know about them! Immediately she turned her cheek, allowing John to kiss it, praying that neither of them blushed brightly.

Mycroft, however, was not blind and did not miss the sudden widening of his sister’s eyes just as the doctor’s face was a few inches from hers. His eyes narrowed as he tried to decide what to make of that. Perhaps she had been hoping John would come to her defense over whatever it was Rose needed to ‘explain’ to him. Yes, surely that must be it, the eldest Holmes concluded, because what else could it possibly be?

“Dr. Watson, I have a feeling your opinion will be necessary. Do delay your exit for a moment and I shall have my driver take you straight to surgery afterwards,” Mycroft requested. Or rather, he made it _sound_ like somewhat of a request but in reality it most definitely was not. It delighted the eldest Holmes to no end that John knew the difference and easily capitulated.

“Alright, but we’ll need to make this quick,” John agreed with a sigh. He stood just inside the entrance of the kitchen, feeling a little silly, yet was unwilling to defy the eldest Holmes over so minor an issue.

A light blush crossed her cheek bones as Rose slowly pushed two notebooks in his direction. “It’s more what I didn’t do. I tried My, truly, but I couldn’t get them all done. The lines in the red notebook are complete and I have about 200 or so done in the purple one but that’s all.”

Opening the red notebook, Mycroft scanned the pages, taking in the number of lines and appreciating that they were very legible. “I forgot how lovely your penmanship is,” he admitted as he closed the notebook. Opening the purple one he found another 515 neatly written sentences. Closing it, he slid the purple notebook back in her direction. “I asked for 4000 and you have given me 2515. Is there an explanation?”

“I gave it my best effort My. I sleep a lot more than I anticipated and now that I’m properly fussed over, there’s time spent using a heating pad or ice. Both things I didn’t do very regularly prior to Dr. Fussypants over there taking over.” Rose inclined her head in John’s direction and smiled when the doctor in question snorted at the newly appointed nickname.

Mycroft’s eyebrows rose at the nickname and a little chuckle escaped before he could stop it. “Dr. Watson, would you care to add to the discussion?” He looked over at the man in question, hoping John would confirm that Rose had been making slow but steady progress so that he didn’t have to scold her.

“Four ibuprofen , she has no problem at all. Give her some decent pain relief and she goes out cold,” John said with a chuckle. “I don’t understand it, because one would think someone her size would be equally affected by the ibuprofen, but sometimes there’s just no accounting for that sort of thing. She’s done really well Mycroft. Worked slowly but surely on them, between medication induced naptimes—”

Rose scowled and stuck her tongue out at John in protest of the word ‘naptimes.’

“— and such. She’s done her best on them,” John finished.

The eldest Holmes nodded, inwardly pleased. “Then I shall table the new project I was going to assign and have you continue working on lines. I can only ask for your best effort, in this and in all things. Your best is plenty,” Mycroft assured her.

A bright smile spread across Rose’s face and before Mycroft could even say another word, Rose was coming around the table to hug him enthusiastically.

“ _Must_ you be so sentimental?” the eldest Holmes grumbled. “It’s really quite appalling. Thank god I didn’t bring you a present or you might smother me with your effervescent outpouring of affection.” Yet for all his complaining, he returned her hug, kissed the top of her head and gave not a word of protest when Rose was suddenly sitting on his lap.

“And on that lovely note, I’m off to surgery,” John spoke up. “I’ll be home later and bring something back for a late supper. Make certain you take your pain medication when it’s time, hm? One in another hour and one four hours after that. I’ll be home in time for later doses.”

“I’ll make certain she does,” Mycroft answered, even though it was clear the doctor was addressing his sister. “Do go on your way without a worry as to my sister’s care. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve played sick nurse,” he admitted.

John smiled and nodded, leaving the siblings to entertain themselves and took advantage of Mycroft’s waiting car as instructed.

“I’m pleased that you’ve somehow managed to behave yourself, though generally that isn’t very hard when one sleeps quite often,” Mycroft commented. “I thought I might keep you company for a while this afternoon if that’s agreeable.”

Rose nodded, her whole face spreading in a smile. “I find that very agreeable. Are we going to do something?”

Mycroft nodded. “We are. You are going to do lines and I am going to enjoy a book.” Before she could do more than give him a pitiful look, he gently pushed her off his lap and onto her feet and sent her in the direction of her chair with a light swat to her behind.

With a long-suffering sigh, Rose sat down in her chair and promptly stuck her tongue out at him.

“How very mature of you Rose,” Mycroft commented with a sigh of his own.

“That’s your fault, brother dear,” she responded. “Mature people don’t have to write lines, therefore you are stripping me of my maturity.”

His brow furrowed as Mycroft gave her a stern look. “Mature people also don’t walk around with broken ribs for three days and engage in a strenuous dance competition that puts their health in significant jeopardy.” He watched as her body stiffened and she looked particularly abashed, her eyes dropping to the table top.

“Now, however is not the time for scolding,” Mycroft continued. “I’ll make you some coffee while you start your lines again.” Getting up to find the coffee pot he watched Rose out of the corner of his eye, noting that she still looked rather dejected, despite the offer of coffee. As soon as the coffee began percolating he crossed the kitchen and hugged her gently. There were no words, just a hug that said everything that necessary.

“I know you only scold because you love me,” Rose finally said softly. “But I hate it when you do. I try really hard to make you proud of me.” She smiled when he hugged her a little tighter.

“That’s precisely why I do it,” the eldest Holmes agreed. “I love you far more than you’ll ever know.” This he whispered in her ear, as if the very walls might have ears of their own to hear it. “And I am proud of you poppet. I may not always be proud of some of the things you do, but I _am_ proud of you. Given my own ineptitude at times, it’s a miracle you turned out so well.”

Rose laughed softly and turned in the chair to hug him in return. “What the world wouldn’t give to hear you admit to be anything less than perfect and completely in control! Luckily for you, I’ll never tell. Now where’s my coffee?”

Rolling his eyes, Mycroft nonetheless brought her a mug of coffee and settled at the table with tea for himself and good book to read.

Two hours, two cups of coffee and one dose of pain medication later, Mycroft looked up from his book to find Rose fast asleep, pen still in her hand ready to write. Chuckling softly he got up and removed the pen from her hand before lifting her up from the chair and into his arms. With great care he carried her over to the couch and gently laid her down. Grabbing the blanket on the back of the couch he tucked Rose in snuggly and leaned over to kiss her forehead. “Sleep well poppet,” he whispered.

\--------------------------------------------------------------

It was a Friday and Rose had been on restricted activity for three weeks. Three _whole_ long weeks and it was slowly driving her insane. Sure, she’d been out to Speedy’s, and gone to visit Louise a few times and had Louise over more times than that, but being kept from any sort of actual strenuous activity was akin to torture. How all the people in prison all over the world survived she had no idea, especially since she had more ‘privileges’ than they did and was still going crazy.

Really, all she did was _sit_ , Rose thought to herself. Admittedly Mycroft had made great effort at keeping her busy while remaining largely inactive but that only added to her misery. Only yesterday had she finished her lines for Mycroft, only to be rewarded with a bit of praise and the assigning of yet more lines. How there could still be things for her to write lines about in regard to her broken ribs she didn’t know, but apparently Mycroft was a man of many talents, much to her detriment.

She scowled at the notebook open before her, hating it even if Anthea had managed to find a pink one. There was also a yellow notebook, far too sunny of a color for her current state of restlessness, and a black one that seemed much better suited for such a dreary and mind-numbing task. Each contained a single line in Mycroft’s handwriting. The first was: _I will not knowingly injure myself for any reason other than self-defense._ That had been the original line, in the pink notebook. To start with there had only been one notebook, but two more had most unfortunately been added to the mix largely by her own making. Or perhaps _entirely_ because of her own making, she admitted with a mental sigh.

_The Previous Night_

“I’m very proud of you Rose for completing these,” Mycroft said sincerely as he gathered the last of her notebooks. “I hope you’ve learned a valuable lesson from writing these lines in addition to giving your body time to relax and heal.”

“I’m so glad to be done with those, you truly have no idea,” Rose told him emphatically. “Want some tea, or are you not able to stay?” She made her way to the kitchen and started some coffee for herself.

“I’ll stay for some tea,” Mycroft decided. “And don’t be too excited just yet, sister mine. You still have three weeks of recovery time for me to fill.”

The coffee pot Rose had been filling with water tumbled into the sink with a loud _clink_ of glass against metal. After shutting off the water she turned around to face her eldest brother, looking completely crestfallen. “Mycroft, let’s be fair here. I did four thousand lines and they took me _forever_ to do. My hand will likely never be the same again after that and you’re asking me to do more than that? I.. It’s… My, it’s not fair!” She hated the fact that the last sentence came out with a bit of a whine, completely without her permission.

“Rosenwyn I told you I was going to give you tasks to fill your recovery time and keep you out of trouble. If you really sit and think about it, you’ll find I’m doing you a favor considering what a rotten patient you generally are,” Mycroft pointed out. “Only one thousand more lines and then I have a few essay topics that you will find illuminating to research.” Completely ignoring her dumbstruck look, he put a pink notebook down on the kitchen table. “Anthea managed to find a pink one for you.”

More than a little tired of being kept half-bored and feeling a bit stir crazy, the slim hold Rose had on her temper broke. Without even looking at the notebook, Rose grabbed it and threw it at her brother, feeling inordinately satisfied when it clipped his face before falling on the floor. “Like _hell_ am I writing more lines Mycroft! I’m had enough and if you even think for five seconds that I’m going to write essays for you, you’re out of your _fucking_ mind!”

The moment the words left her mouth and registered to her ears, Rose could feel dread settling heavily in her chest. The look of anger on her brother’s face only made it worse, freezing her in place as her mind raced to find the words to say. “Mycroft… Mycroft I’m _so_ sorry,” she finally said in a quiet tone. “That was so out of line and I’m really very sorry. Forgive me?”

Mycroft was not in a forgiving mood just then and briskly shook his head no. “I have no idea what’s got into you lately, but you seem to forget that you are a lady and ladies don’t curse. What’s more is that you don’t _ever_ have the right to speak to me in such a manner! Well I have had it with that foul mouth of yours lately and that’s going to end now.”

All the color drained from Rose’s face and her eyes flew wide in alarm. “No… Mycroft, _please_.”

The eldest Holmes merely raised an eyebrow at her and said, “Loo. Now.”

“Sherlock!” Rose called out. She gave him a pleading look, hoping he would come to her aid.

“Mm, no. You walked yourself into that one,” Sherlock told her, never taking his eyes from John’s laptop. He did feel badly for her, having one’s mouth washed out was not a fun experience, but Rose really had brought it on herself.

She flung a last look of appeal in Mycroft’s direction only to be met with a stern look that clearly said ‘I’m waiting.’ With tears already gathering in her eyes, though whether from embarrassment or actual trepidation she wasn’t certain, Rose walked down the hallway and into the bathroom with Mycroft right behind her.

“Sit,” Mycroft ordered, closing the door behind them. He was pleased that Rose complied and sat down on the closed lid of the toilet. After a moment’s brief search he located what he was looking for: an unopened bar of soap and a flannel. He ran the soap under the water for a moment before rubbing the flannel against it, making the cloth good and soapy.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” he admitted as he worked. “You’re twenty, Rose, not ten. You know better than to ever use such language, especially with me. That is not the way one speaks to their loved ones, or to anyone they even have an inkling of respect for. I am _very_ disappointed.”

The scolding had been hard enough to listen to but hearing that she’d disappointed him sent Rose over the edge and she began crying.

Mycroft heard her burst into tears and inwardly cringed. That sound never failed to pull on his heartstrings, no matter how much he might wish it wouldn’t. Deeming the flannel soapy enough he turned back to Rose and nearly decided to forget about washing her mouth out. “You know you deserve this, don’t you?” he asked quietly. “That sort of language has never been allowed and I’m not about to start having you throw it at me now, no matter how old you are. Do you understand that?”

Rose nodded but kept her mouth tightly shut, making him sigh. “I’m not going to wrestle you in order to make you cooperate Rose. Please open your mouth and let’s get it done with. You’ve more than earned it.”

As the unpleasantness got underway in the loo, John returned home from surgery to sounds that were out of the ordinary, even for Baker Street. Tears and the sound of gagging met his ears and he immediately looked for Rose, only to find her nowhere in sight. His flatmate looked wholly unconcerned, but that meant very little considering Sherlock was, after all, Sherlock. Deciding to investigate, John followed the noise to the loo and knocked loudly on the door. “Everything alright in there? Rose are you sick?”

“Rose is fine and this is none of your concern,” came the voice from the other side of the door.

“Mycroft?” John asked, feeling confused.

“I repeat, none of your concern Dr. Watson!” The voice was filled with ominous warning this time and John backed away as the tears and gagging seemed to reach a crescendo.

Inside the loo, Rose was attempting to rinse her mouth, alternately coughing and spitting out the soap suds in her mouth. That taste was going to linger for hours! She wondered, just briefly, if her own lovely smelling soap might have tasted a little bit better but truly wasn’t curious enough to find out.

As soon as Rose finished rinsing her mouth out, Mycroft pulled her into a tight hug. “Let’s not do this again, poppet,” he said softly before dropping a kiss on top of her head. “You might not believe me, but I don’t enjoy this anymore than you do. I don’t actually _like_ having to be harsh with you.”

A few years ago Rose might have snorted in contempt at such words and considered them a load of nonsense. Now, however, she knew what he said was true. “I’m sorry Mycroft, I’m really, really sorry.”

Mycroft indulged in a bit of sentiment and smiled when Rose pressed her face against his chest the way she always had. “I know, but it’s over now and I forgive you,” he assured her, rubbing soothing circles on her back. “There’s no need to cry anymore, just think before you speak from now on, alright?” When she nodded, he kissed the top of her head once more and murmured, “That’s my good girl.”

_Present_

Rose had assumed that they would never speak of the incident again and she firmly intended to deny that it ever happened should someone for whatever reason happen to ask. Then this morning the yellow and black notebooks arrived for her with a note requesting two thousand copies of each line, in addition to the one thousand of the line in the pink notebook. She was _very_ tired of lines and being cooped up in the house like a prisoner. That was about to change.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Greg Lestrade was in his office conferencing with Sally Donovan over a new case when a light knock on the door drew his attention away. He looked over, expecting to see one of his officers or someone from the lab delivering a rushed report. The last person he expected at his office door was Rose Holmes! After giving Sally a look that clearly indicated he expected her to behave, Greg waved the young woman into his office.

“A triumphant return already?” he asked. “And even brings me a macchiato!” He accepted the coffee and gave Rose a grin. “Missed me and decided to come say hello?”

Rose smiled and shook her head. She was about to respond when Sally suddenly spoke up instead.

“How are you?” the woman asked, her tone sincere. “Are you healing up well?”

“I am actually,” Rose admitted. “Slowly but surely. It’s a long and torturous process and I’m certain my brain cells have begun dying from enforced boredom.”

Sally chuckled and smiled at the younger woman. “I’m really sorry about your chair. I wasn’t trying to injure you like that.”

Rose’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as Sally apologized, sincerely no less, for messing with her chair. “You know, I’m really not here to make your life miserable and I hope you know that,” she responded. “We don’t have to actually like each other or anything, but I would like to call a truce for Greg’s sake. Man’s got enough problems, yeah?”

“Hey now!” Greg exclaimed, uncertain if he should be offended by that remark.

“You’ve got a whole department of people to run and murders to solve. That’s enough to deal with, isn’t it?” Rose asked, giving him a grin. She quickly turned her attention back to Sally and stuck out her hand. “Truce?”

“Truce,” Sally agreed. The two women shook hands while Greg grinned proudly at them both.

“So what can I do for you Greg? I’m incredibly bored at Baker Street and I might as well sit and do something for you here than sit there and be bored,” Rose pointed out.

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Greg asked, looking a bit concerned. “I really wasn’t expecting you back for a while yet.”

“Oh, I’m very sure. I’m ready to work but I’ll take it easy, I promise,” Rose assured him.

“Well, I suppose you know your own limits better than I do, so I don’t see why not. Just take it very, very easy and leave the minute you need to alright? I don’t want John or your brothers jumping down my throat because you came back early and set your recovery back,” the DI pointed out.

Rose nodded her agreement and happily got to work at her desk. “I’ve never been so happy to see a desk,” she told Sally while lovingly running her hands across the top of it.

The sergeant merely shook her head, inwardly thinking once again that the Holmes lot was very strange indeed.

\-------------------------------------

Five hours later John arrived at Baker Street holding a box of cupcakes for Rose. She’d been a fantastic patient for three weeks now and had more than earned a bit of a treat for resting as she should. He knew it wasn’t easy for her, though Mycroft’s little projects had certainly assisted in keeping her out of trouble.

He headed up the stairs and unlocked the door of the flat, knowing Rose would lock it since she was home alone. “Rose!” he called out when the door swung open. “Rose, I’ve got a surprise for you!” He expected her to come out of the kitchen or the loo to see what he had but there was no sign of Rose. Within a few moments, John had ascertained that Rose was not at Baker Street at all.

After placing the box of cupcakes on the kitchen table he retrieved his mobile from his pocket with a sigh. He had a feeling he knew exactly where she was but wanted to confirm it.

‘I appear to be missing a patient. Might she be with you by chance?’

Over at the Yard, Greg’s mobile vibrated on top of his desk. He grabbed it, read the message, and rolled his eyes. Somehow he had known Rose had absconded without anyone being the wiser!

‘She is indeed. I take it you will be coming to claim her? –G’

‘Definitely. Be there shortly.’ Pocketing his mobile once more, John locked up the flat and headed for the tube, hoping the ride there would make him feel less inclined to strangle his girlfriend… Or at least give him the strength to resist doing so while anywhere near the Yard!

\------------------------------------------------------------

NOTE 2: Hello my dear readers! I apologize for the long wait for this chapter and will beg you in advance for your patience. I am back at university now, 2nd year PhD student and working two jobs (one with teaching responsibilities) so updates are going to be a bit slower than during the glory days of summer. My goal is one chapter per week for sure (either Petal or Wildflower) but will of course update more often if I’m able. Thanks for all your support and readership!!


	4. Begin As One Means to Go On

There were moments when John thought he might actually be catching on to this deduction business of Sherlock’s. Oh, he’d never be anywhere near as good as world’s only consulting detective, but the doctor was certain he was improving to a certain extent. Then again, perhaps he shouldn’t credit his own skills as highly as he was right in that moment because the person he was deducing tended to be rather easy to read, especially when she didn’t know she was being scrutinized.

Standing just outside and to the left of the elevator, John had a relatively clear view of Rose, who was seated at her desk and appeared to be consulting with Lestrade about something. Those were the easy things though, that anyone should, in theory, see. But there was more to observe than the obvious. As John watched her talk and move, he could see the way she kept her left arm tucked closer to her torso, as if she’d recently over extended and caused some discomfort. Her face was also a touch pale and drawn, also indicating some general discomfort if not outright pain which meant it was very likely that Rose had gone quite some time without her pain medication. She was able to ease up on the use of it more now, but broken ribs were particularly painful and it definitely was not recommended that one skip doses if they wanted to keep things more manageable.

John found himself a little torn as he stood there, not yet ready to approach her. On the one hand, he was incredibly proud of her for having lasted three whole weeks before her impatience and impulsiveness got the best of her. He’d really only expected her to last four or five days tops, so this was definitely something for the record books. He couldn’t really bring himself to blame her for wanting to escape for a bit and in fact recalled feeling the same way she likely did after he was shot. Recovery had been long and arduous and even knowing what he did about the healing process, John had been sorely tempted on a number of occasions to just do _something_ to alleviate being cooped up for so long.

Understanding how she felt, however, was a long way from John condoning Rose’s little disappearing act from Baker Street. It might have been one thing had she bothered to just let someone know she needed to get some air, but to take off _and_ go back to work _and_ skip her medication? That was more than a bit not good and John was more than willing to enlighten Rose as to that fact. As soon as Greg stepped away, John made a beeline for her desk.

As Rose turned back towards her computer screen, she caught a flash of something familiar out of the corner of her eye; something that looked _just_ like John’s jacket. She turned her chair around slowly in that direction, her heart plummeting into her stomach as her suspicions were confirmed. John was in fact striding toward her, looking far less than pleased with her.

John almost chuckled at the look on Rose’s face when she caught sight of him. Her cheeks immediately flushed and her eyes grew round and wide before turning her chair back towards the computer screen as if ignoring him could make him go away. Either that or she was mortified and praying that he wouldn’t embarrass her. That, of course, was not his goal at all!

Finally he was standing beside her desk and without a word slowly turned her chair towards him. Once that was accomplished John sat on the edge of her desk, arms crossed over his chest, an eyebrow raised inquisitively.

Rose was torn on how to best respond that the silent question that eyebrow of John’s asked. While she was aware she was well and truly caught not resting, she hesitated to acknowledge any issue between them here among the people they both worked with. She opened her mouth to suggest they table the conversation until later and said…

“…Hi.”

The softly uttered greeting and the anxiety coming off Rose in waves made John’s stern façade soften a bit. “I’m not here to embarrass you,” he said very quietly. “But I am here to take you home because you’re not meant to be back here yet. I can already tell you’re in some pain, so let’s go home and get that taken care of.”

“John, it’s been three weeks and I’ve been a model patient that whole time. But I’m really fine now, I promise, and a little pain isn’t a bad thing. It’s just a twinge.” When that eyebrow of his went up again, Rose let out a sigh. “Okay, a significant twinge, but I’m _fine_. And I intend to stay until my normal shift ends in a few hours.”

“Which one of us is the doctor?” John asked, a steely edge creeping into his tone now.

Rose bristled at his tone and, much to her annoyance, began to blush once more. “You are but--”

John held up his hand, effectively cutting her off. “Stop right there. I _am_ the doctor and as your doctor I am telling you to go home and rest before you undo all the healing you’ve done thus far. Now please gather your things and we’re going back to Baker Street.”

Lifting her chin, Rose looked him squarely in the eye. “John, I said no and I meant it,” she said firmly. “The bottom line is that I can sit here just as easily as I can sit at Baker Street and at least here I’m doing some good.”

Unwilling to cause a scene, but equally unwilling to allow her to stay here and work in pain out of what was most likely boredom rather than any sort of reasonable excuse, John leaned down close to her as his response was for her ears alone. “You aren’t going to want to sit anywhere when we get home,” John commenting in a warning tone.

The promise behind those words hanging in the air between them and Rose’s eyes went wide, her mouth forming a little ‘o’ in alarm.

“Now I’m telling you for the last time, please get your things so we can go home,” he said sternly.

Swallowing hard, Rose gave a curt nod before getting up from her desk and heading towards Lestrade’s office. “Um… I’m going to head home for the day,” she said softly.

“Good,” Greg replied sincerely. “Don’t come back until you’re really ready, alright? There’s no rush, your job isn’t going anywhere, even if I do miss you and my morning macchiato rather desperately.” He gave her a wink and smile, happy to draw a smile from her in response.

Within just a few moments Rose was ready to leave, walking silently with John towards the lift. The tension between them was thick and it was she who first tried to pierce it. “You’re very angry with me, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t say angry per se, but I’m not best pleased with you love,” John responded with a sigh. “If you were itching for a spanking you might have just texted me and asked for one and skip leaving the flat and risking injury all together.”

Her jaw dropped and a flush of pink blossomed across her cheek bones. “If I _what_?! Are you serious? Just text you and ask for one? Why would I want to ask for one?!” The door of the lift opened, silencing the two occupants, but Rose continued to glower at the doctor. She waited, just barely, until they exited the building before continuing to speak.

“I wasn’t looking for… for… _that_ ,” Rose spat out, fighting the urge to stomp her foot for emphasis. “I just… It’s not a big deal!”

“It’s a _very_ big deal!” John countered, turning to pin her with a hard look. “Maybe not to you, but it is to me. This is not okay Rose, not even close. I’ve told you several times how paramount it is that you rest and not overexert yourself or your ribs won’t heal properly and be a continuous problem for you. This isn’t me just being overly protective; it’s me wanting you to continue to dance without ribs looking for their next chance to snap or give you chronic pain because they didn’t knit back together properly!”

It was only then that he realized their raised voices and very public row was drawing attention from people walking past them on the pavement. John took a deep breath and reached for Rose to gently tug her hands, urging her to move closer him. “Let’s take the rest of this home, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Rose agreed. “Get us a taxi will you?” She intertwined her fingers with his, letting him hold on to her.

Nodding, John moved towards the street to hail one.

\--------------------------------------------------

The ride back to Baker Street was a silent one as tension seemed to close in on them yet again. Rose spent much of it worrying her lip to the point that it started bleeding. Sucking her bottom lip into her mouth, she tried to staunch the bleeding while inwardly shuddering at the gross metallic taste in her mouth.

When the taxi pulled up to the curb, she ducked out of it, leaving John to pay the fare, much as Sherlock always did, and hurried inside the building. She was nervous and anxious, though she always felt that way when she was about to get spanked, but somehow this was different. It felt different and Rose was frustrated that she couldn’t pin a label on the feeling.

John entered the flat and shut the door behind him, the sound effectively pulling Rose out of her reverie. He took a seat in his chair, facing Rose who had claimed Sherlock’s, and raised his eyebrows. “Why? Why did you do it? It can’t be that you were unaware of the risks, because I’ve made those quite clear to you time and again,” John said. “You’ve done brilliantly and I even got you cupcakes to celebrate what a great patient you’ve been.”

Rose peeked around him and into the kitchen, spotting the box of cupcakes from her very favorite bakery. The one that had precipitated their food fight in the sitting room and aided John’s apology not long ago, and she sighed with pleasure at the thought of how good they were going to taste.

“Rose? I’m over here,” John interrupted, purposely leaning in to block her view of the box. “We’ll worry about the cupcakes later; they aren’t going anywhere. I asked you a question and I’d like an answer.”

She settled back against the seat with a sigh. “I was bored and I didn’t think it was a big deal. Sitting is sitting is sitting.”

“That’s a Sherlock excuse and I think it’s more than that. Were you overcome by impulse?” John asked. That he might actually believe, but even so, it was likely to be only part of the cause. “Tired of being cooped up? There’s better ways to deal with that love than abscond to work like that. I would have been happy to take you out somewhere tonight for a few hours, give you a bit of a break from the flat.”

“You’d take me out on a date?” Rose asked, immediately perking up. “Oh, we need to do that! Our very first date!” She smiled brightly at the mere thought of it and wondered where they would go and what they would do.

“Tomorrow we’ll go out and do something if you rest between now and then and aren’t hurting too much,” John promised. “But for the moment we’ve got other things to deal with, so let’s stay on task.” He ignored the look she gave him- thinned lips, narrowed eyes and all- and offered one of his own in return. “Why?”

“Look, I was actually bored,” Rose replied. “And I wasn’t going to stay here one more second and write even one more line for my di--er,” she quickly edited herself, remembering all too well the events of the previous evening. “For Mycroft. I figured if I went back to work then he couldn’t reasonably expect me to continue the lines because look, I was all better now and working! It was much more of a protest than any sort of concerted effort to…” Her voice trailed off as she realized how red John’s face had become.

“Let me make certain I’ve got this straight. You risked your recovery and upped your chances for potentially chronic issues because you were mad at your brother and wanted to show him up?!” John thundered.

Rose went still, reflecting for several seconds on what she had said and how John had interpreted it. “Admittedly, when you put it that way, it sounds quite stupid.”

“And how exactly did you plan on keeping this from me?” John crossed his arms over his chest and watched as her face flushed with embarrassment. Whatever her plan had been, it wasn’t a very good one, obviously.

“Well, considering the fact that I was caught that should indicate that I… uh…” Rose shifted uncomfortably in the chair, finding it harder and harder to look John in the eye. “Clearly that should indicate I hadn’t thought that far in advance yet. I tend to have problems with forethought.”

John was momentarily torn; on the one hand he wanted to chuckle and smile at the forlorn look on her face. On the other hand, he couldn’t let her get away with this, no matter how adorable she looked. John had never once thought of someone who misbehaved being adorable, particularly not the young men under his command, yet that word precisely described Rose just then. The slight shifting in the chair, the flush of pink across her cheekbones and the way she kept nibbling at her bottom lip.

“This sort of thing is not okay Rose,” John said sternly, digging deep for his no-nonsense captain tone. “Even if you had managed to go there and come home without my being the wiser, that’s not okay. You have to understand that, but I’m really not certain you do.” He paused to take a deep breath. “I’m going to try and get this across to you the only way I know truly works. Rose, bend over--”

“But John, my ribs!” Rose cried out, putting a hand over her injuries.

“Oh _now_ you worry about your ribs?” John asked incredulously. He pinned her with a dark look that made her squirm before continuing. “Of course you can’t go over my knee with those injures but you can and will bend over the kitchen table.” Getting up from his chair, John entered the kitchen and fished around in a drawer until he spotted what he was looking for.

Rose’s eyes went wide as she watched him pull a wooden spoon out of the drawer. “John, I think we need to talk,” she blurted out.

His eyebrow quirked. “We just did.”

“No,” she responded, shaking her head. “I mean about us. About us and… and…” Rose frowned, trying to pull her somewhat scattered thoughts together amid the usual dread that accompanied a spanking. “About us and _things_! Important things and… stuff.” The thoughts were right there in her mind, but her tongue just couldn’t seem to cooperate.

“Rose, either say what it is you’re hedging at, or come here and bend over.” John pointed at the table with the spoon before crossing his arms over his chest. He couldn’t quite decide if she was stalling or actually had something important to say, so he wanted to at least give her a little window of opportunity to say it.

“But we’re different now! I thought we were different now and that things would be different and we should really, really talk about it John,” Rose finally managed to say. It still wasn’t the whole of it, but hopefully he would understand the gist of it.

It slowly dawned on John what exactly she was getting at. The fact that they were now in a relationship had led Rose to believe that this would either no longer be necessary or no longer be acceptable, or some sort of combination of the two. For a moment his look softened and he let out a sigh.

“You’re right,” John told her. “We do need to talk about it. We probably should have before, but I thought our conversation at hospital made it clear to you so I didn’t think about clarifying anything. But yes, we do need to talk and we will--”

Rose’s face lit up.

“After your spanking.”

“John! We need to talk about it so I can talk you out of this!” Rose exclaimed, the words rushing out before she stopped to think about them. “Er… uh…and also talk about it seriously,” she added. She could feel the stains of scarlet appearing on her face, hot and uncomfortable. “I really did mean that bit,” Rose clarified. “The legitimately talking bit.”

The doctor scowled darkly at her. “Oh no, _no_. I am not giving you a chance to talk your way round me. Come here.” He nodded in the direction of the table and expected her to get moving, but she just stared at him with wide eyes instead. “ _Do it!”_ John finally ordered in his captain tone.

Looking as if she was walking towards her own execution, Rose hurried over to the table and bent over it. She kept her torso off the table, allowing her forearms to support her upper body and took a deep breath, trying to brace herself.

While Rose shored up a bit of bravery, John quickly closed the space between them. Belatedly he realized he should have asked her to take down her jeans, but he wasn’t going to waste the time to ask her now. The spoon would hurt plenty through her jeans. Moving closer to Rose he put an arm lightly around her waist, resting his left hand on her hip as he tucked her against his side. It was a movement motivated by the desire to keep Rose from wriggling away as much as it was to offer her the comfort of physical contact.

Before she was really ready for it, if anyone _could_ be ready for a spanking that is, Rose felt the spoon connect sharply with her right cheek. She jerked at the intense sting the spoon created and let out a startled little yip as the spoon smacked that cheek three more times before moving to the other side to repeat the pattern. “Ow! John! No, ow! We don’t-OW-need to do this!” she protested, trying to move her bum out of the line of fire.

John continued to pop the spoon across her cheeks with very little time between swats. “I love you, you know. Quite a lot, in fact. But your complete inability to compromise when it comes to your health is madness, Rose and I’m just not going to allow it. The sooner you get that through your head, the better for your bum. Do you hear me?”

He moved the spoon down to her sit spots, putting a fair amount of strength behind the smacks and adding a snap to his wrist. “Not to mention the fact that you were _lying_ to me, which is not something I’m going to accept in a relationship!”

The sharp sting made Rose rise up on her toes, letting out a pitiful sounding “Owwwiiiieeee!” Without even meaning to, her right hand flew back to try and shield her bum from the wicked wooden implement. “Ow, John please! _Please_!”

John’s heart ached a bit at the sound of Rose’s distinctly tearful pleas and struggled to force himself to ignore them. “Hand away Rose,” he finally said sternly. “We’re not finished quite yet.” He didn’t wait for her though, gently brushing her hand aside himself and set the fire in her bottom blazing once again.

Neither she nor John even noticed Sherlock return home during her spanking. Sherlock looked at them for a moment, an eyebrow quirked, then merely shook his head and confiscated John’s laptop since the doctor was obviously not in need of it just then.

“I love you too much Rose to let you treat yourself so cavalierly,” he lectured briefly. “I’m not going to have it and if this is what it takes to keep you safe and whole, then I’ll do it _because_ I love you, you mad little thing!”

His words hit her hard and just like that Rose’s tears began to fall. Instantly the spanking stopped and John put the spoon down on the table. “Alright love, alright,” he soothed. John rubbed her back gently for a moment before helping her up from the table. Instantly he wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her in his strength, holding her as tightly as he dared. “Shh, it’s alright love. It’s alright now.” John smiled softly as she pressed her face against his shoulder and shook her head.

They stood there for a few moments as John held her tightly, letting her cry out her tears on his shoulder. Finally, when they seemed to slow, he kissed the top of her head and attempted to steer her in the direction of the couch for a cuddle. It was only then that he realized Sherlock was now home and sitting at the desk, having clearly broken John’s latest attempt at a Sherlock-proof password. He shot his flatmate an annoyed look.

“You’re very predictable John,” Sherlock responded nonchalantly. He never even bothered to look up from the screen at the laptop’s rightful owner.

John sighed, rolling his eyes at the man. “Yeah, and you’re a git. You have--” He was interrupted when Sherlock suddenly crooked his finger, beckoning him over. He kissed the top of Rose’s head and stepped away from her, intending to see just what it was that Sherlock wanted.

“Not you,” the detective responded. “Rose.”

“Rose? I haven’t even had a chance to properly cuddle her yet!” John protested with a scowl.

Sherlock finally looked away from the laptop, his dark eyebrows slanting in a frown. “I’ll give her back John,” he said firmly. “Besides, she was mine before she was yours. Still mine,” he pointed out.

“She is right here and is not a piece of property whose ownership shuffles back and forth based on the silly assumption that possession is 9/10ths of the law,” Rose interrupted. Her sniffling took away from the harshness of her words, rendering the brief scolding rather ineffective.

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course you’re mine,” Sherlock countered. “My very own little Rosie and so you always shall be. Now come here. Please.”

Hastily Rose tried to dry her eyes with hands as she crossed the room and allowed her big brother to hug her tightly.

“Was big bad John mean to you?” Sherlock asked, cuddling her close. He shot John a glare not unlike the one he always received from the doctor after spanking Rose, feeling as though turnabout was fair play.

“Big bad—Sherlock, come on!” John protested. “That’s not even true and you know it.”

“Yes,” Rose said in a tiny voice, cuddling tighter against her brother. “He was so _very_ mean Sherlock. The very meanest ever.” She preened a bit as Sherlock rubbed her back, making gentle shushing sounds. Out of the corner of her eye she saw John’s jaw drop, a look of confusion mixed with astonishment on his face.

…And she laughed. Sherlock’s triumphant laughter joined her infectious giggles a few seconds later, the two of them dissolving into an absolute fit of laughter.

John stared at the siblings in utter confusion as they both began to laugh loudly, at _him_. “Oh yes, ha ha, very funny,” he grumbled.

“The look on your face John!”

“’He was so _very_ mean to me Sherlock’” the detective added, mimicking his sister’s voice before being consumed by laughter once more.

His hands on his hips, John glared at the two Holmes siblings. “You’re monsters, the pair of you,” he announced. “Here I was getting all concerned that I’d been too hard on Rose and it was all a game from the very start, wasn’t it? Did you two coordinate efforts in advance or something? I don’t know whether to be angry or impressed.”

“We didn’t have to talk about it. We did that to Mycroft all the time, though he never took us the least bit seriously,” Rose admitted. “It just sort of occurred. Sherlock started it by calling you big and bad.”

“You always glare at me as though you’d like to take my head off whenever Rose and I have a discussion and turnabout is only fair play John,” Sherlock added. “Before I relinquish her for some actual cooing and cuddling--”

John’s face instantly turned red and he gave the detective a truly scathing look. “I _do not_ coo at her Sherlock!”

“Of course not John,” Sherlock replied without a modicum of sincerity. “As I was saying, orattempting to say at least, what, dearest sister, have you done?” An eyebrow arched as Rose’s face flushed and he waited patiently for her to answer.

The doctor left the siblings briefly to find Rose’s pain medication and bring her a dose, along with some water.

“I decided to go back to work so that Mycroft couldn’t make me do anymore lines because look I’m all better now,” Rose admitted. “It didn’t work out well. I didn’t have a solid plan to avoid getting caught.”

“Lack of forethought as per usual,” Sherlock agreed. “I’ll take care of Mycroft.” He kissed the top of her head and gently nudged her out of his lap. Once that was done he reached for his mobile and hastily typed a message to their brother.

‘Rose will not be doing any further lines. SH’

“And five… four… three…” Sherlock began counting down. Just before he got to ‘one’ the mobile rang.

“What do you mean she is not doing anymore lines? I assigned her those lines, not you, and she deserved the extras for her behavior yesterday,” Mycroft pointed out.

“I mean exactly as I said,” Sherlock responded easily. “Simply put, brother, I am overruling you.”

“Are you trying to pull rank on me Sherlock? I am the eldest in case you’ve forgotten.”

“No, I haven’t forgotten, I’m merely recalling the discussion we had a while back regarding Rose and her living arrangements. It ended along the lines of our agreeing that I would be the main disciplinarian now that she was at Baker Street. Surely that hasn’t slipped your mind.”

“You two seriously have conversations like that?!” Rose exclaimed, upon hearing Sherlock’s side of the discussion. “You two are simply too much for any girl to bear!”

Mycroft scowled at his mobile. “Still, she--”

“No,” Sherlock interrupted firmly. “I’m overruling you.”

“…You can’t do that!”

“I just did,” Sherlock said with a smirk. “Besides, your plan backfired. Didn’t it occur to you that rewarding her efforts at completing those initial lines by giving her more was merely giving her a punishment for good behavior rather than appreciating her good choices? She went back to work today to avoid doing lines, thanks to your efforts.”

Mycroft opened his mouth to argue then closed it just as quickly while he considered his brother’s words.

“Yes, I know you didn’t see it like that,” Sherlock supplied. “But that’s precisely what you did and that’s not a trend either of us wish to start, is it?”

“….No,” Mycroft admitted. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Goodbye Sherlock.” Mycroft ended the call with a frustrated sigh, knowing Sherlock was grinning with pleasure at having bested him.

Rose once again vacated John’s arms when Sherlock ended the call with their brother, throwing her arms around him and kissing his cheek. “You’re my favorite,” she murmured with a smile.

“Haven’t I always been?” Sherlock gave her a bit of a pout when she went back to John before finally turning his attention back to the laptop.

“Did you still want to talk, love?” John asked. “And maybe have some arnica cream?”

“Yes! Yes on both counts,” Rose agreed. “Maybe we could go next door so we don’t disturb Sherlock, or vice versa?”

“Good idea. Go on, I’ll meet you in there in a minute.” Giving her a smile he then headed for his bedroom.

Entering Rose’s flat a few minutes he immediately saw that she was not in the sitting room. The reason for that was also apparent, as her couch was heaped with clothing that needed to be folded, a few items of which he clearly recognized as his own jumpers. John shook his head fondly and headed for her room where he found her lying on her good side, her eyes closed.

“Haven’t fallen asleep on me, have you?”

Rose opened her eyes and smiled. “Nope. How’s this cream thing going to work? You’ve told me I shouldn’t lie on my stomach.”

“I think you’ll have to bend over the side of the bed then,” John said after a few seconds thought. “Up you get, jeans and pants down.” For some reason the both of them began to blush at the same time when he said those words.

Rose got up from the bed and pushed her jeans and pants down to mid-thigh before bending over the bed. She cringed when John let out a low whistle at the sight of her bum. “Either you’re admiring my bottom or it looks as bad as it feels.”

John laughed softly as he uncapped the arnica cream. “A bit of both, but mostly the latter. You’re quite red back here, but you won’t mark. I should have told you to at least take down your jeans so I could see what I was doing.”

“I’m glad you didn’t! That hurt plenty even with the jeans.” Rose hissed as he began to gently rub the cream onto her sore bum. “I’m sorry that I don’t seem to care very much about myself. I don’t always mean to be that way, it just sort of happens. I believe you when you say things, I just don’t think about them when I want to be thinking about something else.”

John leaned over and kissed the small of her back, smiling as he drew a little squeak from her. “I know Rose,” he said softly. “I just worry about you and I also don’t want us to keep secrets from each other. I don’t like the thought of you possibly going in there today, coming home before I did, and then just keeping it from me.”

“I really hadn’t thought that far in advance,” Rose told him truthfully. “It was really far more driven by the fact that I was upset with Mycroft. I deserved what happened last night, for what I said, but the additional lines… It’s really hard to be thrown something like after you’ve worked so hard. Sherlock had the right of it, rewarding good behavior with more punishment and I didn’t want that again. So I had a thought and acted on it without thinking further in ahead than how I felt in that moment.”

“I was expecting this to happen eventually,” John admitted. “By the end of the first week to be honest, but I am really proud of you for lasting three whole weeks. I do worry about you though, and wish you’d take better care of yourself. It’s even more important to me now that we’re together.”

Rose nodded, looking thoughtful. “I’ll try to be better, and I don’t want a relationship full of lies either.”

John put the cap back on the arnica cream. “All done love. I’m going to wash this off my hand then we’ll talk a bit more.” He ducked out of her bedroom and returned just in time to see her curled up on the bed on her side once more; her jeans a little heap on the floor, her legs bare, the bottom half of her covered by her pants.

“Going to put some bottoms on then?” John asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

Rose shook her head. “Hurts too much still for jeans. I’m more comfortable without them.”

The doctor coughed just a bit. “Pajama bottoms then? Sweats?”

“Do I have some? Yes, but they’re very far away from where I am right now,” Rose pointed out.

“Very far away? Yes, your chest of drawers is ages away,” he teased, shaking his head. “Are you trying to distract me or something?”

Rose frowned just slightly before her eyes widened. Her blue and white striped pants covered everything and she hadn’t really thought about them as a distraction from the actual conversation they were supposed to have. “Are my knickers making you uncomfortable?” she asked sincerely. “I could grab a blanket or you could get out some pajama bottoms or something.”

John smiled, even as he felt his face go a bit red. _You’re a doctor_ , he reminded himself, _you can have a conversation with your girlfriend even if she’s in her pants. You talk seriously with half naked people all the time._ Rose was adorably sweet with her genuine concern that she might be making him uncomfortable.

He crossed the room and sat down beside her, pulling her onto his lap at last for that proper cuddle he owed her. “I think you’re just trying to get compliments out of me.”

Rose looked up at him, an eyebrow quirked, before a cheeky smile settled across her face. “Well, it wouldn’t go amiss if amid a cuddle and serious discussion about our relationship to compliment me a bit.”

Chuckling quietly, John then kissed her. “You have the most adorable bum,” he murmured in her ear.

“I don’t think bums can be adorable,” Rose replied, her face growing red.

“Certainly they can. Yours is adorable _and_ perfect.” He grinned wolfishly at her, a hand sneaking down to cup one cheek before his voice began rumbling low and deep in her ear. “It’s little and rounded just right, plus it’s the perfect size to grab hold of.”

“And that would be so much sexier and much more of a turn on if my bum wasn’t hurting,” Rose murmured, arching away from his hand a bit. “Another time you can write sonnets to my bum or something. Or my eyes or anything else you find lovely about me.”

John laughed and opened his mouth to respond, only to be cut off by slow, thoughtful kiss, her soft lips brushing against his own; it was a sensation he found intoxicating. It took everything he had to pull away from her a bit and clear his throat uncomfortably. “We had something we were going to talk about, didn’t we?”

Rose nodded. “We did, yes. Though I suppose it doesn’t require as much of a talk as I thought it might,” she admitted. “And I’m not certain where to start.”

“I will then,” John offered. He grabbed a throw blanket from the end of her bed, covering her with it in case she got cold. It was winter after all and the building was a bit drafty! “Be honest with me love. Did you really think that because we were in a relationship I wouldn’t uh… well…” He tried to find a more adult word for it but, upon failing, resorted to the typical word. “Spank you anymore?”

“I guess I did. It was more of a hope I suppose. I mean, I knew I was flirting with disaster and some serious retribution from someone for walking around and competing with a broken rib. I know that was stupid,” Rose admitted. “But I worked so hard I couldn’t _not_ go and at least try. I deserve everyone’s anger for that, so I wasn’t at all surprised when you threatened to smack me in the hospital. I thought after that, however, it might be done. Perhaps.”

John held onto her a little tighter, though he made certain not to put any pressure on her injured side. “Honestly, I’d like it to be but realistically I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon. I certainly won’t be looking for opportunities to do it though,” he assured her. “I don’t like being the one to make you cry, even if it’s a well deserved spanking like it was today.

“Does it make you uncomfortable? Other than your bum I mean. Does it cross certain lines that I don’t know about?” There was a lot he, and her brothers for that matter, didn’t know about the eighteen months she was on her own. If there was truly an issue there, something that this hit far too close to home with, he’d reevaluate things. He truly hoped that that was not the case; not because he would regret giving up the right to spank her when it was deserved, but because it would mean there was an abusive relationship of some sort in her past.

“No! Nothing like that,” Rose said firmly. That one night in Italy aside, she had never been the victim of violence at a man’s hands, and she had left that particular man in much worse shape than she was! “I guess I would just like to be enough of a grown up that that is no longer an option on the table.”

“It has nothing to do with your age, you know. It’s everything to do with how completely mad you are. I love you and I don’t want you hurt or in danger and I’ll do anything I can to keep you safe, even if that means I have to spank you to do it. It’s not about control,” John added. “It’s about love. I love you too much to stand back and let you do whatever comes into your head and end up half dead. You realize that, right? That it’s not borne of some desire to… I don’t know… hold you hostage or something? Control you and change you fundamentally?”

Rose smiled and laughed. “Of course I know John! That’s not the sort of man you are, and if you were, Sherlock would’ve killed you by now for laying even a finger on me. I know it comes from a place of love, just don’t expect me to like it, alright? No matter how it may look, I don’t actually enjoy being in trouble. Getting called to task like that means I really have been wrong, disappointed someone I loved and made bad choices. I know all that. I was raised with all that. But…” Her voice trailed off and she frowned in thought as she tried to find the right words.

“But what, Rose?” John asked encouragingly. “Whatever it is you can say it, you can trust me, even if it’s something you don’t think I want to hear.”

“I’m not sure if this is normal, that’s what’s been bothering me, or at least was bothering me earlier,” she explained. “I’ve not been in many relationships, especially while I was away. I tended to move on as soon as someone got too close to me because I didn’t want to… well, give my heart away again and have it blow up in my face again. So I just… I wasn’t sure if I should be concerned or just assume it wouldn’t happen anymore. I was confused I guess.”

_Give my heart away again and have it blow up in my face again_. The words echoed in John’s head and he tried to file them away for a later date. “There are lines of not normal. Abusing someone is not normal,” John told her in a firm tone. “But you and I are not ‘normal’ in general, nor is any of your family or our whole living arrangement. And who is to say what _is_ normal? Normal is what works in a relationship. So long as you don’t think I’m trying to control you and as long as you trust me to not take it too far--”

“John that goes without saying, both of those,” Rose sternly interrupted.

“Then we’re fine.” John kissed her nose and then briefly claimed her lips. “Our normal is okay for us and that’s what matters. If something changes though, you have to promise to tell me. I won’t be looking for chances to spank you, and hopefully you won’t be giving me loads of reasons to consider it,” he gently teased.

Rose smiled at him, even as she blushed a bit. “I don’t go looking for it, which is why I was so upset with you earlier for telling me I should’ve just asked!”

“Well it felt like you might have been at the moment I said that,” John told her. “And I still think your reasoning was ridiculous so I won’t feel bad for doing it. But let’s talk about something else, hm? If you rest up today and tomorrow and aren’t hurting, I want to take you out. It’s about time we did. Where do you want to go?”

She sighed happily and rested her head against his shoulder. “Angelo’s? I love Italian and it’s nearby so we could walk. Maybe after that just walk a bit, see if anything draws our attention? I haven’t told Mycroft, by the way, about us.”

“I assumed so, since I haven’t been kidnapped off the street recently. Would you prefer a chance to talk to him first?”

“No. I love Mycroft very much,” Rose said softly. “And I’m afraid he’ll say no and the thought of that… Well, it frightens me a bit. We’re very complicated, he and I. Parameters and all that.”

John nodded, looking thoughtful. “So you want to go out a few times, see if we fit as a couple outside of Baker Street before you approach him about it.”

“Yes. It’s cowardly I know, but…”

“It’s not,” John hurried to assure her. “Everything can look different when in the outside world as compared to here. Not that I think we’ll be any different, or if we are we’ll just be better for it. If you need that time, to get used to one another that way, I’m alright with that. He’s your brother, not mine, and you two are a bit of a puzzle that I may never figure out entirely. Know that I don’t want to come between you and won’t ask you to choose, should things go there.”

“Oh god, I hope they won’t,” Rose moaned. Seconds later, she let out a great yawn. “Medicine is kicking in. Stay, will you? I’m quite comfy all curled up like this. Might I hold you prisoner until I fall asleep?”

John smiled at her, running a hand through her hair. “You can keep me prisoner as long as you like,” he assured her. _Forever even_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took far too long in coming and I’m so sorry for the long wait. I’ve been half-drowning in grading, lecturing, classes and second job and this was the concerted effort of snatches of time here and there over the last couple weeks. I hope the length makes up for the wait. Thank you all for your patience and support for this story and Wildflower!


	5. The Trials & Tribulations of Being a Holmes

Choosing an outfit for one’s first date was complicated, Rose thought to herself. Something quirky? Comfortable? Semi-dressy? Dressy? Pants or skirt? Maybe a dress would be better! Something soft and feminine, or something with a loud pattern? If she went with a pattern, how loud was too loud and which was the appropriate pattern for their planned activities? And then what about shoes? Oh god, the shoes! The questions were endless and, unable to arrive at a decision on her own, Rose wisely called for reinforcements.

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth,” Louise chided upon her arrival at Rose’s flat. She strode across the floor and into Rose’s room, throwing open the closet doors to survey all that was before her. “Yeah, I see what you mean. Not a shred of decent clothing to be found in a wardrobe four times the size of mine!”

Rose laughed, shaking her head. “If you took better care of your clothes--”

“Or had them professionally tailored, if not bespoke,” Louise countered. She gave Rose a look of disdain before bursting into laughter. “You’re my favorite person in the whole world, you know that? Only you could ring me up and say you have nothing to wear when you have…” The redhead frowned as she scrutinized the contents of the closet once more.

“What?” Rose asked, getting up to stand beside her best friend. “What’s wrong?”

“How in the world could I have missed this? After all these years, being your bestie and half-living at your house and growing up around your brothers! I really ought to be ashamed of myself that I haven’t noticed this before,” Louise murmured.

Rose stared into the closet with a discerning eye and noted nothing at all out of the ordinary. “I’m insanely confused Lou. You’d best tell me what’s troubling you or we might stand here for an hour before I stumble upon it. Heaven knows your mind does not work in logical ways.”

“If you weren’t still recovering, I’d shove you for that,” Louise laughed, looping an arm about Rose’s shoulders. “I can’t believe _you_ don’t see it! Rose, you are so much like your brother sometimes that it’s downright scary.”

The brunette rolled her eyes. “Mycroft’s been saying that for years, about Sherlock and I.”

“Well then Mycroft is blind too because this,” Louise paused to wave her hand at the contents of the closet. “Has Mycroft written all over it.”

Frowning a bit, Rose surveyed her wardrobe and finally it dawned on her. Dear god she _was_ like Mycroft! Her clothing was sorted into types, each with their own section and from there was grouped into bunches of dressier occasion, work clothes, everyday items, and strictly formal items. Within each group the items were hanging together in order of color and not just all the greens together, but each color was in alphabetical order.

“Oh my god… How long have I been doing this?” Rose asked, her voice filled with both wonder and horror.

Louise shrugged. “To be honest, I’m not quite sure. It’s been forever since you and I were able to share clothing and this is the first time you’ve ever asked me to dress you--”

“Help me select an outfit,” Rose interrupted. “I am perfectly capable of dressing myself.” The two girls grinned at each other.

“I haven’t inspected your closet thoroughly in some time, since you keep your competition outfits in front. Who knows? Maybe it’s emerged because you’re bored out of your mind here at home resting? Could be a habit that’s existed for quite some time, who knows? What I do know is it’s slightly terrifying,” Louise decided.

“You know what’s more terrifying?” Rose asked. “The fact that you remember how Mycroft organizes his closet. Though we did have a significant amount of time to dwell on his organizational skills that afternoon we were hiding from him in there.”

Louise grimaced at that particular memory. “Those scorch marks on your Mum’s granite counter from those hot pans of biscuits. How did we not remember to put anything under the pans? We remembered to use a glove to take _out_ the pans.”

“I have no idea, but I didn’t look at biscuits quite the same way again for a while after that particular spanking. He was far angrier about the scorched counter and didn’t see the wall until I was stupid enough to point it out,” Rose said, shaking her head. “And poor you! You wouldn’t go near him for a month afterwards!”

“I pitied you greatly after that, learning first-hand how awful a Mycroft spanking was,” Louise admitted. “Anyway, back to your enormous wardrobe and an outfit for tonight. First date, so exciting!” She hugged Rose tightly, the two girls sharing a grin with one another. “So what sort of look do you want to go for?” the redhead asked. “The ‘I’m so sexy and gorgeous’ look, or a ‘let’s skip dessert and go back to my place’ look, or an ‘I’m unique and adorable’ look? Personally I vote for the ‘let’s skip dessert’ look.”

Rose frowned and repeated the phrase mentally, its meaning dawning on her after a few seconds. “Louise! It’s the first date! We’re not doing… _that_! You’re a horrid example, you know that?”

Louise merely grinned. “Oh, I know. You need a bad example,” she decided. “But do as I say, not as I do, right? Seriously though, you two have known each other for months. There’s nothing wrong with looking eminently fuc--”

“No,” Rose cut her off. “Just no Louise. Honestly, you’re not turning out to be much help.” She could feel her face growing red at the direction this conversation was going, feeling a bit out of her element. “It’s the first date Louise, and you can be sexy and gorgeous without having to advertise that you want to have sex that very minute. Besides, even if I wanted to do that- which I don’t!” Rose reiterated. “I’m not on any birth control.”

“That can be easily fixed. Go see my ob-gyn, get checked out and get a prescription,” Louise told her. “Though do it sooner rather than later. You never know when he might sweep you off your feet and carry you straight to a bed.” She began imitating the cheesy sort of music one might find in a cheap adult film until Rose’s face went as red as the flower that shared her name.

Her face was going to burst into flame at any second, Rose was certain of it! She hadn’t even thought that far in advance of things. “It’s just the first date!” she squeaked.

“You’ve known each other for several months now,” Louise pointed out. “Not that I’m saying you should get in bed with the man post haste or anything, just, be prepared for when it happens. And try not to blush quite so brightly or look so worried when it does, or you might put him off!” she laughed.

Rose couldn’t help laughing along with her. “You’re right, I know,” she It’s just… it’s John and I don’t want to ruin this.”

“You’re not going to mess this up you know.” Louise reached for Rose’s hand and squeezed it hard. “John’s a good one, you’ve finally picked a good one and now that he’s figured out you’re the best thing that could ever happen to him, everything will be great. But it all starts with looking good and feeling confidant on your first date!”

\---------------------------------------

Thirty minutes later Rose ran next door in just her dressing gown, calling out “John, John, John!”

“Rose, Rose, Rose!” the doctor called back from the kitchen. He grinned broadly as she narrowly missed running into Sherlock who was pacing around the sitting room.

Walking at a more sedate pace, after the near run-in, Rose entered the kitchen to find John about to pour a cup of tea. She stopped, put her hands on her hips and cocked an eyebrow. “And just how many cups of tea have you had today, John Watson?”

John had to force himself not to laugh at her mock stern look, trying to look so authoritative with her hands on her hips. She was just a slip of a girl, as the saying went, so the sight was quite comical. He raised an eyebrow of his own in return and imitated her stance. “I could ask the same of you Rose Holmes. But I’ll offer you a cuppa instead. Join me?”

“We’re leaving in forty minutes, there’s no time for tea,” Rose exclaimed. “I still need to finish getting ready!”

“So the dressing gown isn’t your apparel for the evening then?” John asked the question with a straight face and conversational tone but was unable to hide a grin when she blushed.

Rose tossed her hair before defiantly raising her chin. “No, it is not. Disappointed?” Her eyes glittered with mischief.

“Dreadfully so,” he deadpanned.

She tried her best to look put out with him but Rose couldn’t stop the laughter from bubbling over. “Beastly man!” she accused amid giggles.

The laughter quickly stopped when John put his tea down and reached for her with both hands. He pulled her close, the touch of his hands making her heart flutter. John leaned his forehead against her own and said in a voice barely above a whisper, “Beastly hm? Does that make you Beauty then?”

Rose was about to close the few inches between their lips and capture his with her own when they were quite rudely interrupted.

“She prefers Cinderella John, which would make you Prince Charming,” Sherlock quipped while still pacing. “Despite the lack of similar circumstances that would enable a small child to feel affection for and a connection to a fairytale figure, that one has remained Rose’s favorite all her life.”

The youngest Holmes closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh. “Sherlock… timing.”

Sherlock ceased his pacing and looked over towards the kitchen where Rose and John were still holding on to one another. “Oh.”

“ROSE!” Louise’s voice now entered the mix, announcing her entrance in to the flat. “How long does it take to ask about shoes?”

“Oh! John, I came to ask if I could wear heels tonight,” Rose suddenly remembered.

A slow smile spread across the doctor’s face. “Are you dressing up for me?”

“Don’t be silly, I was practically born in heels and wear them all the time. I dress for my comfort, John Watson, not to impress you,” she teased. “Though if I happen to please you while also pleasing myself, then I’ll be quite satisfied.”

John laughed and shook his head. “Born in heels, hm? Well I can’t say they aren’t a good look for you,” he admitted. “But I think you should still hold off on those until your six weeks is up. I don’t want to take any chances of you losing your balance and falling.” He pulled her a little closer, his lips brushing her cheek before whispering in her ear, “I’m so proud of you.” It was rather significant in John’s book that she had even thought to ask about it.

“Alright, alright, snog her later after I’ve made her sexy,” Louise interrupted loudly. “At this rate you’ll miss your reservations and never even bother to leave the building, let alone the flat!”

Rose tilted her head up and gave John a brief kiss before Louise managed to drag her away.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

A short time later John was about to knock on Rose’s door when it suddenly flew open, revealing Louise. The redhead scooted out of the way and went to stand by Sherlock who was hovering in the doorway of his own flat, everyone seemingly waiting for the youngest Holmes to appear. When she did, John’s face lit up brightly as he looked her up and down.

Her hair was done in a waterfall braid, the remaining length of her curls spilling onto her shoulders. It was a stunning style that somehow managed to look completely effortless on her. John noticed she wore no make-up and that made him smile even more because she was so pretty she didn’t even need it. Not to mention it might cover her freckles! Rose’s outfit was undeniably her: a knee-length dress with little cap sleeves, it was a bright almost neon green sprinkled with tiny white flowers. It was accented with a hot pink belt, matching shoes, and small neon pink hoops in her ears as well. The outfit was every bit Rose, bright and fun, yet feminine and a bit eclectic all at the same time.

It was only when Louise rather loudly cleared her through that John realized he was still staring and hadn’t said even a word while Rose was beginning to blush uncomfortably. “It’s too bright isn’t it? Too loud,” Rose reflected. “I’m sure Angelo will hold our table and I can go change really quickly. Honestly, it wouldn’t take me very long.”

“No, don’t,” John immediately replied. “It’s so… you. It’s like you in a dress.”

Rose snorted before beginning to laugh. “Well I am wearing a dress so technically it is me in a dress.”

It was John who blushed a bit this time, the heat that he could feel on his face undeniable proof of that fact. “I meant that more metaphorically. It’s like you made into cloth. Okay, that didn’t exactly sound any better… Your personality in fabric form?” Somewhere in the past two minutes he’d clearly lost the ability to make any sense at all and John was a bit disconcerted by that fact.

“Oh dear god they’re hopeless,” Louise moaned to Sherlock. “John likes it, you like it Rose, everyone likes it, are we agreed? Excellent.” She didn’t even wait for a response before declaring it to be ‘excellent.’ Louise then looked at Sherlock and elbowed him gently in the ribs. “Say something,” she whispered rather loudly.

Sherlock looked down at her and frowned before turning his gaze towards Rose. “You look very pretty,” he said sincerely.

“Sherlock, you’re such a dolt,” Louise decided, elbowing him again. She squeaked when Sherlock elbowed her in return, albeit gently, but his elbow was sharp! “Say something to _them_. You know, like you do whenever some guy comes to get Rose for a first date.”

The middle Holmes looked downright confused now, something he very much hated. “Louise, you are speaking nonsense and I have no idea to what you are referring.”

The redhead rolled her eyes. “You know-the _things_. The dad type things. Treat her nicely, bring her home by curfew. Make some vague threat about great bodily harm if he doesn’t. Haven’t you ever done that before?”

“No, typically that has been Mycroft’s department and I really fail to see why such a conversation would be necessary in this instance,” Sherlock retorted. “This is John.” That, as far as he was concerned, rendered any sort of conversation of that nature rather mute.

“I’m so confused,” John whispered to Rose. “And a bit frightened that even Sherlock looks confused just now.”

“Louise is trying to get Sherlock to be playful and tease us but he doesn’t understand the necessity of it, mainly because there isn’t a need for it. I sometimes don’t understand my life, and this is one of those times,” Rose admitted. “We’re leaving now!” she announced rather loudly. “If someone would please pass me my coat, we’re leaving!”

Shooting Louise an irritated glance, Sherlock reached into the flat and pulled her coat off the hook. Somehow most of his sister’s shoes and all of her various coats seemed to collect in his and John’s flat rather than Rose’s own, something for which he could find no discernible reason for.

Rose readily took the coat from her brother and slipped it on before doing up the buttons and heading down the stairs with John right behind her. When they exited the building they took one look at each other and began laughing. “My personality in fabric form? Really?” She could hardly get the words out she was laughing so hard.

John shrugged sheepishly before reaching for her hand. “Come along you, we’re running late as it is!” As he got his laughter under control he silently marveled at how perfectly her hand fit in his, their fingers interlaced.

“You’ve grown very quiet,” Rose commented as they rounded the corner of the block. “What are you thinking about?”

The doctor coughed a bit before responding with, “Your hand.”

Rose frowned a bit in confusion at his comment. “My hand?” she asked. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing; nothing at all in fact,” John hurried to assure her.

“Are you nervous too?” Rose questioned, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her questioned caused John to become immediately concerned. He let go of her hand, circling her waist with his arm instead. “What are you nervous about?”

She took a deep breath before responding to his question. “I don’t want to mess this up and I’m scared that I will. I’m not good at any of this.”

They came to a stop a few feet from the entrance to Angelo’s as John turned her towards him. He cupped her cheek with his hand, brushing his thumb gently across it. “Don’t you think I should be the one worried about mucking this up?” John asked quietly. “Considering what a fine job of it I was doing to begin with? I think we’re both starting on equal footing here, yeah? Now smile for me, love. Come on, give me a smile or I’m really going to start worrying.”

Unable to resist his gentle encouragement, Rose gave him a smile that brought the sparkle back into her eyes and tried to let her anxiety disappear in its wake.

“Well hello smile, lovely to see you again,” John quipped, giving her a cheesy grin. “Now come on, let’s go in. Angelo’s already spotted us and is waving rather frantically from the entrance.” Taking her hand once more, they hurried inside and let Angelo fawn over them for a few moments before being shown to a table.

“So when did you start dancing?” John asked. While it felt as if he had known Rose for a long time, he knew there was a lot about her that he didn’t know and a lot she didn’t know about him.

“When I was three. Started ballet, added tap the next year and ballroom when I was six,” Rose responded before sipping her coffee. “I won my first title at nine. The plaque is still hung up in my Mum’s room.”

“Nine? You’ve been competing since you were nine?” It made sense that she would have started young, but John had never realized quite how young she’d been. He tried to picture what Rose would have looked like then, the image he conjured making him smile.

“Why are you smiling? And I won a title at nine, started competing with ballroom at seven,” Rose added, grinning at the look on his face.

“I’m trying to imagine how you looked back then,” John admitted. “Teeny tiny thing, undoubtedly dressed in pink or polka dots, curls everywhere, wearing miniature heels on those impossibly tiny feet of yours. God, I bet you were adorable.”

She laughed softly. “My adorableness would depend entirely on who you asked and how much of a terror I’d been that day,” she said, blushing a bit. “I always knew I wanted to be a dancer. Did you always know you wanted to be a doctor?”

John shook his head. “I had all sorts of things I wanted to do when I was young. I thought about being a firefighter, then an aeroplane pilot, all the types of jobs little boys dream about having. But I was fourteen when I decided I wanted to be a doctor, because I cared about people and wanted to help them. I discovered I was sort of good at it when my gran came to live with us for a while before she passed and I helped Mum take care of her. From that point on I had my heart set on it.

“You know what I would love to do sometime?” John asked. When Rose shook her head, he continued. “I’d love to see your whole process that you go through for a dance. Frankly I don’t understand how you hear music, put movements to it, and then make it look so bloody amazing and I’d really like to know how that happens.”

Rose beamed brightly at him, feeling quite pleased. “I suppose you could if you really wanted to. It’s not always that much fun, and sort of hard to put into words. I kind of have to listen to the music repeatedly until I can feel it. Feel the beat,” she clarified. “Then, depending on what type of dance it is, I think about what types of movements work best with the music and fit the feel of it and then start trying those movements to see if they all link up well together. After that teach it to Alfred and then we polish it up together.”

John nodded, finishing a bite of his food before responding. “How do you know which things to do for which dance? Are there rules of some sort?”

“There are, but you want to be clever about it too. You can’t just do the basic required moves and expect to win anything. You’ve got to put your on flair in it or you don’t stand out. It’s complicated, but it all makes sense in my head, I swear!” Rose laughed. “Now it’s my turn again. Why the army? Why be an army doctor and not just a regular one from the start?”

“Well, for starters, medical school is expensive. My family didn’t have the sort of extra funds to set up some savings for Harry and I for college so I knew I’d have to find some way to pay for it. My dad was in the army and I thought I could do well there as a doctor. People in the army need good doctors so much. War is more remote now, to a certain extent, since we aren’t charging each other with swords, but with each change in weaponry more damage is done to a person,” John explained.

Rose nodded slowly. “The distance might be greater between combatants but the technology that makes that possible causes greater devastation to soldiers and everything. The environment, civilians, surrounding areas, everything.”

“Exactly!” John’s face lit up with pleasure at Rose’s comprehension. Not that he expected any less, but there were few people with whom he could talk about Afghanistan with. “They needed good doctors, who could think on their feet and patch those men up and be brave enough to care for them even in the most nightmarish circumstances and I thought I had that in me. I thought I could be that good.”

Her mouth curved into a thoughtful smile. “They were lucky to have you then,” Rose decided with a firm nod. “And I happen to think you are a very good doctor indeed, John Watson.”

A smile tugged at the corner of John’s lips but he managed, just barely, to keep his face and tone serious. “And just how would you know, Rosenwyn Holmes? You never listen to a thing I say!”

Rose’s breath quickened at his words, her eyes growing wide as her cheeks became warm. Then she caught the gleam in his eye and began laughing softly, hoping she wouldn’t disturb the other patrons. Her laughter grew when John’s own warm, rich laughter joined hers and they dissolved into helpless laughter, the other patrons be damned.

“You know what though,” John said when their laughter was under control again. “I really don’t think I’d have you any other way, my madcap girl.”

\----------------------------------------------------------

A short time later, with dessert eaten and the check taken care of, Rose and John exited Angelo’s. John immediately wrapped his arm around her waist, keeping her close as they stepped out into the cool night air. “How are you feeling?” he asked. “Should we head back to Baker Street? I don’t want to keep you out if you’re getting a bit sore. We’ve done a lot of laughing today.”

“That we have,” Rose agreed, turning her face up towards his. “But it’s been good. This has been _so_ good, and I don’t want to go home just yet. In fact, there was supposed to be this new club opening nearby and I thought we might walk over that way and see if it is. It’s not a club club,” she clarified. “Much more laid back than that, or so I’ve gathered from the press about it. Could we go see?”

“Promise you’ll tell me the minute you start hurting? I don’t want you to be in pain love,” John said sincerely.

“That’s a very easy promise to make. Let me get the address again.” Rose pulled her mobile out of her purse and quickly googled the name of the club. “Yeah, it’s just four blocks away. Come on, let’s go check it out.” She tugged on John’s hand as she set off in the direction of the club.

“It’s a good thing I actually want to go with you otherwise you’d be hard pressed to make me move anywhere,” John pointed out with a laugh.

“I’m stronger than I look,” Rose pointed out as they fell in step beside each other. “Don’t let my petite size fool you! I could seriously kill someone with my legs.”

That put quite an interesting mental image in his head, John silently reflected. “Like that girl in Goldeneye? One of those ones that’s very pretty but with a stupid name.”

Rose stopped in her tracks and turned to him, her jaw dropping. “You’re a Bond fan… How did I not know this? How did I not know this? John you’re perfect!”

John suddenly found himself with his arms full of Rose. Unable to resist the urge to do so, he spun her around a bit before setting her back on her feet. “How did I not know you were a Bond fan either?” he asked, looking bewildered.

“I have no idea,” Rose admitted with a shake of her head. “And the girl’s name was Xenia Onatopp, so yes, stupid name. Literally killer legs. Oh, the irony of it all!”

“You’re brilliant,” the doctor murmured. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled as much as he had tonight. Yet another tugged at his lips as Rose slipped her arm through his and began directing them towards the club once more. “So, I’m perfect am I?”

The slight girl beside him let out a laugh. “Apparently so John, apparently so.”

“You going to remember that the next time I scold you about something?” John just couldn’t resist giving her a smirk while she narrowed her eyes at him.

“I’ve resolved that there will not be a next time,” she explained in a firm tone.

John made a brief humming noise and nodded his head. “I estimate that will last a whole… four days,” he decided. “Yes, four days maximum.”

“That’s terrible!” Rose laughed, playfully slapping his arm. “How dare you have such little faith in me? If I say there shall not be a next time, there shall not be a next time!”

“There will always be a next time because you, my darling girl, are incurably naughty,” John teased.

Rose’s face flushed as she sucked in a breath. “Say that again,” she requested softly.

John frowned a bit. “That you’re incurably naughty? I was teasing, mostly.”

The loose curls about her shoulders shifted as Rose shook her head. “No, the other part.”

“My darling girl?” John watched her nod curtly, acknowledging he’d said the right thing this time.

For some reason, the spontaneous moniker John had given her went straight to Rose’s heart and made her feel strange. Very strange and very wonderful in a way she couldn’t quite explain. “I like that a lot,” she finally said.

“Then I’ll say it a lot,” John immediately responded. “When it’s just you and me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “And I’ll have to think up something to call you.”

“As long as it’s nothing ridiculous I don’t have a problem with that,” he said with a nod.

“So calling you my love muffin is out?”

“Your _what_?” John asked loudly, turning his head to give her a scathing look. “No, that one is not going to happen, I mean--”

Rose was nearly doubled over with laughter at this point. “Oh my god, the look on your face! Oh John, your _face_! That’s the funniest look I’ve ever seen in my life!” She might have kept laughing for quite some time if a shooting pain hadn’t interrupted her. Rose let out a moan and pressed her hand to her ribs.

“Alright, time to go home now,” John said firmly. “Take a second, catch your breath, and then we’re going home.”

“But the club--”

“If it just opened, it’ll still be open in a few days time. We’ve been far too silly this evening and it caught up with you. I was worried it might,” John admitted. “Thankfully we aren’t far from home. Can you walk okay, or should I try to get us a cab?”

“I think I’ll be alright, just give me a second,” Rose told him. She slowed down her breathing as he’d taught her to do, riding out the wave of pain until it eased. “Sorry to ruin our date,” she said softly as they began heading back to Baker Street.

“You didn’t ruin anything, love,” John murmured. “It’s been a really great evening. One of the best I’ve had in a really long time with anyone to be honest.”

Rose nodded. “Same here. I’m so glad you finally came round John, truly.”

“Me too,” he said with conviction. “Me too.”

\----------------------------------------------

Two hours had passed since they had returned home and gone straight to Rose’s flat, Sherlock reflected. For the past fifteen minutes straight he’d be listening to the same song over and over again and he was going to go mad if he heard it even one more time! What exactly they were doing he had no idea, but that song must be stopped.

Retrieving the key, Sherlock let himself into the flat. The song, he immediately realized, was playing on repeat on a DVD menu while John and his sister were fast asleep on the couch. John had his arm protectively around her with one hand holding a now melting ice pack to her side. Sherlock crossed the room and turned off the electronics, sighing in relief that the stupid _Goldfinger_ song was no longer playing.

With great care he then turned his attention to his flatmate and sister, beginning with easing the ice pack off of Rose and returning it to her freezer. Lastly, he found a blanket and covered them both with it, making certain it was tucked in snuggly around Rose in particular before he left and locked the door behind him.

\------------------------------------------------------------

Two days later Rose found herself in an ob-gyn’s office wearing an unfortunate paper gown. This had seemed like a good idea originally. Go in, get the annual check that apparently she should have started getting a few years back, and emerge with birth control in anticipation of someday having sex with John.

She had, however, not anticipated that the exam would be a pelvic exam! Or that there would be a paper gown involved, or even that horribly intrusive questionnaire she’d been forced to fill out. Who asked those sorts of questions?! Clearly, Rose thought, she should have asked someone a few more questions herself!

A knock at the door roused Rose from her thoughts and she plastered a smile on her face when the doctor walked in.

“Hello! I’m Dr. Fields, you must be Rose… Uh, how do you say your name exactly?” the doctor asked.

“It’s said “roz-en-win” sort of like Rosalind, but you can call me Rose. Rosenwyn is just too formal and silly, and I’m pretty sure my parents just made it up actually.”

Dr. Fields laughed as she made a few notes on the chart regarding Rose’s name. “Rose will do just fine then,” she agreed. “So I understand you’re here for your first exam and to discuss some birth control options, correct?”

“Yes. I’m not entirely sure what to expect to be honest. I rather wish I’d asked someone some questions before I made the appointment,” Rose admitted.

“Well I’ll be certain to walk you through everything before I do it so you aren’t upset by anything,” Dr. Fields told her. “And just so you know for the future, you’re allowed to bring your Mum in with you if you like. Sometimes it’s a bit comforting for young ladies.”

Rose’s smile wavered a bit. “My mother passed when I was ten,” she said softly.

The doctor nodded, finding herself wondering just what her young patient knew outside of the information caught in school. “I’m sorry to hear that dear. We’ll take things nice and slow. First off we’re going to take a look at your questionnaire.” She reached for the paperwork and began going over the information.

They went over Rose’s medical history and as much of her mother’s as she could remember but there was one final thing to confirm before the exam would proceed.

“And lastly, I just want to confirm that this is also correct- that you’ve had no sexual partners,” Dr. Fields

Rose’s face went bright red. “It is, yes. I’m still… uh…” She wasn’t certain she could get the word ‘virgin’ out of her mouth.

“Alright, very good,” Dr. Fields responded. “Now the first thing I’m going to do is…”

\------------------------------------------

A short time later Rose left the surgery with the prescription she’d wanted, feeling relieved that things were done with for a year. She had never been so embarrassed in her life, she was certain of it! Why hadn’t someone warned her?! “Oh right,” she said aloud. “Brothers.”

Across London, Anthea looked at the CCTV footage and sighed heavily as she watched Rose emerge from the surgery. This was not going to go over well, she thought to herself. Suddenly the idea of delivery tea to Mycroft Holmes seemed far less than appealing. He was not going to like this at all and there was really no good way for Anthea to say what needed to be said. There was nothing to do but simply bring in his tea and have an ambulance waiting on speed dial should the poor man have an apoplectic fit.

“I know that look,” Mycroft said after giving Anthea an appraising look as she entered his office. “There’s something you think you need to tell me but you’re hesitant to tell me because I’ll be upset by it.” He watched her place the tea on his desk and then looked at her expectantly.

Anthea merely quirked an eyebrow in silent acknowledgement that he was correct and offered nothing further.

“You only have that look when the upsetting news involves my siblings,” Mycroft continued. “You might as well tell me so I can begin to repair the damage before it spirals out of control. What have they done now? Did Sherlock attempt to purchase cocaine from a dealer I haven’t terrorized yet?”

“No, sir,” Anthea answered. She was a bit amused at the fact that Mycroft couldn’t immediately tell somehow what it was she was going to tell him. Yet part of her was very much not looking forward to telling it!

“Well there’s a ray of hope after all,” Mycroft quipped. “It must be Rose then. Has she been arrested?”

“No sir, of course not,” Anthea responded with a chuckle.

“Trust me, it wouldn’t be the first time if that happened to be the case,” Mycroft admitted. He gave a long-suffering sigh and reached for his cup of tea. “You might as well just tell me Anthea, how bad could it be if those are not among the scenarios?”

The poor man had no idea, Anthea thought. She braced herself for the fallout that was sure to come before beginning to speak. “Rose was just seen at a doctor’s office.”

Mycroft nodded and took a sip of tea.

“An obstetrics-gynecology practice to be specific, sir.”

The tea he had delicately sipped from his cup went spewing across his desk as Mycroft began choking and sputtering.

Without missing a beat, Anthea reached over and thumped Mycroft’s back until the choking and sputtering came to a halt. Yes, that had gone precisely as she’d anticipated.

“What in god’s name was my sister doing in that sort of an office?!” Mycroft demanded.

“I’m not certain sir. Though given the type of medicine practiced in such an office…” Anthea’s voice trailed off as Mycroft gave her a dark look.

“You cannot possibly be suggesting that my sister is _with child_ ,” Mycroft growled. “Because that, I assure you, is completely impossible!”

Anthea moved just a few inches away from him, stealthily scooting the tea cup along with her. “Sir, she is twenty. Such things have been known to happen in the world.”

“Not to MY sister they don’t!” Mycroft thundered. “I am going to get to the bottom of this immediately!” Grabbing his mobile, he furiously pulled up Rose’s number and hit the green ‘go’ to connect the call.

This was not going to end well at all, Anthea reflected. “Sir… sir... _Mycroft_!” She reached over and put her hand over the mobile. “Sir, you need to take a breath and think about this. It’s a very delicate subject and it might not even be anything related to pregnancy at all. Try to think carefully so you don’t end up accidentally calling your sister a… a… light skirt… sir.”

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Out. I’m going to get a hold of her and find out what she was doing there with or without your approval. She is _mine_ after all and I would like to think after all this time I know what I’m doing!”

With a nod Anthea left his office and said a silent prayer that Rose would not answer her mobile for the next several hours.

\-----------------------------------------------------

As Mycroft began repeatedly calling Rose, across London Sherlock looked up from the file on his desk and rubbed his eyes. Once they were focused again his eyes flickered over to the telly to see what had so engrossed Rose and John that they hadn’t made even a peep for the past ninety minutes straight. What he saw, however, made him recoil, eyes wide with alarm. “Rose, why are there naked people all over the telly?”

“We’re watching _Game of Thrones_ ,” Rose replied, her eyes never leaving the screen.

Sherlock frowned a bit. “That does not answer my question--”

“Oh yes it does,” Rose countered.

“No, it doesn’t! Why are all those people naked? It’s indecent! John, why are you letting her watch this?”

Rose paused the program as she began laughing loudly. “Sherlock, its HBO. That is what they do. Naked people, randomly, wherever they can possibly have a thin thread of a reason for it and sometimes even when they don’t. Naked people aside and incestuous relationships aside, it’s a really brilliant show.”

“ _What_ kind of relationships?!” Sherlock asked, sounding more than a little alarmed. What in the world was his baby sister doing watching this?! “Where did you happen to come across this filth? John, why are you supporting my sister’s consumption of pornography?”

The Holmes in question snorted at his indignant questioning of John. “It’s not pornography and Mycroft sent it to me,” Rose answered, barely holding back more giggles at the look of pure outrage on his face. Her giggles grew in volume when John began laughing as well, unable to hold it any longer.

A dark look settled on her brother’s face. “That is not funny and I do not like being lied to Rosenwyn,” Sherlock scolded. Crossing his arms over his chest he gave her a look that said she better tell the truth and tell it now. Lying was one thing Sherlock had never, and would never, tolerate from her. Even he had lines that were not meant to be crossed!

“No, seriously! After you overruled him about those lines, he sent this round with a note. It was a ‘sorry for being a meanie, here is something from your insanely long Amazon wish list’ gift,” she explained.

Sherlock paused, considering this for a moment, before smirking gleefully. “That is marvelous. He didn’t even have a clue he was sending you a program of this nature! How could Mycroft have not realized?”

“Well you didn’t,” Rose pointed out. She squealed and ducked when Sherlock hurled a pillow in her direction, which hit John in the face instead.

“Hey now, don’t get me involved in this!” he laughed, tossing the pillow back at his flatmate. “I’m the innocent party here!”

Sherlock was about to reply when his mobile began ringing. He looked at where it sat on the desk with disgust. Everyone that was worth hearing from knew he preferred text! Besides that, all the important people were here at Baker Street. Well, not Gavin Lestrade, he admitted to himself, who might just be the person calling him. Sighing, Sherlock picked up the offending object and was more than a little surprised to see Mycroft’s name on the ID. Mycroft calling him was never a good thing.

“What do you want? I’m busy.” Sherlock answered.

“Do you know where Rose is?”

No sarcasm, no greeting; this was highly unusual. He looked over at Rose who was snuggled on the couch with John watching… well he wasn’t quite sure what was going on, other than everyone needed to put more clothing on. “She’s fine.”

“Is she now?” Mycroft replied, the sarcasm now creeping into his tone. “Then why is she not answering her mobile?”

“How should I know? It’s not my day to watch her.”

“SHERLOCK HOLMES!” Mycroft thundered. “ _Every single day of her life_ is your day to watch her! Where is she?!”

The middle Holmes cringed at the eldest’s angry tone. “She’s with friends and she’s fine. Rose probably can’t hear the mobile ringing or has switched it off because she’s somewhere that it would be inconvenient for her to be interrupted.”

By this time Rose had looked up from her place of blissful comfort cuddled in John’s lap to frown at her brother. What in the world was going on? She opened her mouth but Sherlock frantically waved for her to be quiet.

“Something is going on Sherlock and I need to get ahold of her as soon as possible,” Mycroft explained. “When you see her next, or hear from her, you tell her to call me immediately. Is that understood?”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Never mind, just have her contact me as soon as possible.” The conversation then ended with a little click as Mycroft pressed the ‘end’ button.

“What was that all about?” Rose asked, frowning a bit. “Sounded like Mycroft was yelling.”

“He was; apparently he objects to my saying it wasn’t my day to watch you,” Sherlock muttered. “Rose, you need to tell Mycroft about you and John. He’s becoming suspicious and I’m not sure what he’s upset about, but he’s definitely upset with you.”

Rose’s heart dropped. Reaching for the remote she paused the DVD player and looked at John. “Could Sherlock and I have a minute? Please?”

“Of course,” John readily agreed. “I’ll go upstairs for a bit. Shout when you’re ready for me, yeah?”

She nodded her agreement and smiled when he kissed her gently before getting up and exiting the room.

Sherlock quickly occupied John’s vacated spot on the couch, upset to see Rose looking so anxious. “Mycroft isn’t going to eat you, you know,” he pointed out gently. “But you really do need to tell him. It’ll be that much worse if he finds out on his own and thinks you’ve been keeping things from him.”

“I know, but…” Rose took a deep breath. “Sherlock I’m scared he’s going to say no and then I’ll have to choose and I don’t want to do that. Whatever I would choose, someone would get hurt, and it’s not only myself that I have to consider here, it’s you and John, too. How will this affect you both as friends if it all goes bad? I don’t know how to tell him this Sherlock.”

“You tell him very honestly, succinctly, and in a very mature manner. John is a good man Rose, and I don’t think even Mycroft could fail to see that, even where you are concerned,” Sherlock pointed out. “Most important of all Mycroft loves you and wants you to be happy. If John makes you happy than I do not see an issue. And you can tell him I say so, that I give my approval to this relationship.” He scowled as Rose let out a snort and rolled her eyes.

“Oh yes, because you giving your seal of approval to things has always worked out marvelously well in the past,” Rose laughed. She didn’t laugh for long when he swatted her thigh, causing her to yelp a bit. “Don’t be mean Sherlock. It’s not my fault Mycroft doesn’t value your approval on things.”

“Well don’t be quite so delighted about it,” Sherlock grumbled, even as he wrapped his arms around her. “At the end of the day Rosie, remember that he loves you dearly and does not want anything to come between you two again. He might react strongly at first but, given time, he’ll be made to see reason, I’m sure of it.”

Rose smiled when he pulled her close and rested her head against his shoulder. “I hope you’re right Sherlock. I really, really, _really_ hope you’re right. I don’t want to mess things up with Mycroft like I did before.”

“You were a confused and hurt teenager back then,” Sherlock pointed out gently. “And that was hardly your fault to begin with. I understood, once I knew what you were trying to do and was no longer convinced you’d gone insane.” He wished Mycroft had been understanding or listened when Sherlock tried to warm him about why he suspected Rose was acting out. It turned out Sherlock had been right, but that was hardly any consolation for any of them as Rose and Mycroft’s relationship deteriorated at breakneck speed.

“Things are different now,” he continued on. “You’re a young woman now and you’ve shown great maturity and growth since you’ve been back. Still a bit reckless at times, but that’s just who you are. Eventually we’ll spank it out of you, in another few decades or so.” A meaningful pat accompanied his words, earning him a squeak and a scowl as Rose made a show of rubbing her bum. Yet for all her dramatics, she let out a soft laugh, which in turn drew a smile from him.

After a moment, however, his smile faded as his tone became serious once more. “Don’t ever underestimate how much Mycroft loves you Rose. If you had seen how distraught he was while you were away, you wouldn’t feel this anxious now about broaching the subject of you and John with him.”

“Perhaps. Promise you won’t give us away though Sherlock. Please?” Rose implored with a sad little look.

“Tell him soon Rose, I mean that. The sooner the better. But no, I won’t give you both away,” Sherlock reluctantly agreed. This wasn’t going to end well, he was certain of it, but he wanted to let Rose handle it in her own way and had to trust that she would.

\-----------------------------------------

For the next few days Rose managed to dodge Mycroft’s calls, returning them only when she knew he would be otherwise occupied. She knew that couldn’t last forever, and that she should really just suck it up and get it over with, but she just couldn’t. Not yet. Soon, but not yet.

As the hours and days began to slip by, Mycroft found himself more and more often thinking about what Rose was doing seeing an ob-gyn. Surely she wasn’t with child, that was just not possible! In fact, the longer he mulled it over, the more he began to worry that something could be wrong. Was Rose having medical issues? Was her health in danger? If it was, why would she keep it from him?

All these questions were on the tip of his tongue when Rose finally answered what had to be his one hundredth call. That was not, however, what he asked her. “Rose, I’d like to have you over for dinner tonight,” Mycroft explained. “Are you free this evening?”

On the other end of the call, Rose looked at her mobile in bewilderment before responding. “That’s what you’ve been trying to ask me? That’s what was so important that I should call you back immediately?”

“Well you hardly answered me promptly,” Mycroft pointed out. “I was growing concerned.”

“And yelling at Sherlock all those times?”

“I always yell at Sherlock. It is what we do,” he pointed out. “I’ll send my car for you at 6:30.”

\---------------------------------------------------

Mycroft smiled at Rose as he sat down across the table from her. “I’m quite pleased you were able to come for supper this evening,” he began. “You’ve been difficult to get in touch with of late. Out with friends, I understand?”

 _That was one way to put it_ , Rose thought to herself. “Mostly with John,” she said slowly. Was now the right moment to broach the topic with Mycroft?

“How nice of him to keep you out of trouble.” He paused momentarily as she made a face at him as per usual, and made a face of his own in return. “No interesting cases of late, I’ve noticed,” Mycroft continued. “Sherlock must be climbing the walls.”

“Shooting them, much to Mrs. Hudson’s consternation,” Rose laughed softly. “That’s our Sherlock, never changes.”

“Mmm,” Mycroft hummed noncommittally. “I invited you here for a number of reasons, but one in particular is the driving force.”

 _Dear god, he already knew_. “Oh?” Rose struggled to keep her voice even as she tried to read her brother’s feelings from his well masked face. The effort did her little good as Mycroft was particularly unreadable.

“There is something of some importance I want to speak to you about, but I am… perplexed at how to best broach the topic.” Mycroft’s smile tightened uncomfortably for a few seconds before he opened his mouth to continue speaking, only to be rudely interrupted by the sound of Rose’s fork clattering loudly against her plate.

There was something odd about his tone and Rose felt her entire body go cold at his words, her hand unable to continue holding the eating utensil. “My… Oh my god. Mycroft, please, please tell me you’re alright, that you’re not dying! People start conversations like this when someone is dying, and you’re not allowed to die!”

The eldest Holmes’s eyebrows shot upwards at the vehemence with which Rose spoke. A bit stunned by her outburst it took him a few seconds to respond, during which her face became nearly ashen. “Rose, of course I’m not dying!”

Getting up so quickly that her chair toppled over, Rose rounded the table and threw her arms around him, holding on for dear life. “Don’t ever, _ever_ , start a conversation like that again My, please,” she whispered, hastily blinking away the tears that had started gathering in her eyes.

“There, there,” Mycroft soothed. He rubbed her back gently, an almost automatic response to having an upset Rose in his arms. “I do believe I will be bound to this earth for as long as it continues to exist and you are found within it. Heaven only knows who would keep you from harm if I wasn’t here.” He let her hold on to him for a moment, dropping a kiss on her cheek before gently pushing her away from him. “Yes, yes, all too much sentiment. Do go sit down already.”

He waited for her to right her chair and sit down once more before starting the conversation over. “Rose, are you… well?”

This time it was the littlest Holmes who looked completely bewildered. “Well I’ve still got two weeks resting time before I can go back to work, but I’m healing just fine.”

Mycroft sighed, realizing he would have to be more specific. “Are you certain? I only ask because it has come to my attention that you made a visit to a doctor two days ago. An ob-gyn to be specific and I’m concerned.”

Rose’s eyes flew wide as her face flushed a brilliant scarlet color. “Mycroft, however you came by that knowledge, please don’t do that anymore. But I’m fine and there’s no reason to be concerned. I’m fine, everything’s fine, I was just getting a check.” She reached for her glass of wine and gulped part of it down, wondering what circle of hell she was in that facilitated such a conversation with _Mycroft_.

A frown settled on his face. “A check? A check means there’s a reason to be checked, or there has been in the past,” Mycroft responded, his tone filled with concerned.

“No My, seriously. Women just need… checks,” she tried to explain. Any second now her face was going to burst into flames it was that hot and red! “To… uh… make sure everything is fine. Which it is!” There was no way in hell Rose was going into the finer details of her appointment, let alone the fact that she was prescribed birth control! Whether or not Mycroft realized that she didn’t really want to know, but it was entirely possible he was unaware and Rose wanted it to stay that way!

Nodding slowly, Mycroft processed this information. “So you’re not unwell.” That was one possibility eliminated then. What else would require a young lady to visit an ob-gyn’s office, he mused. Then, it hit him, causing him to pause momentarily to brace himself for the possible answer to his next question. “Are you… have you…” Never in his life had Mycroft found himself at quite such a loss of words, or so fervently wishing the earth would open and swallow him whole. “Rosenwyn, are you…” _Think of a delicate word,_ he mentally berated himself. “… Increasing?”

In the split second after he said ‘increasing’ Rose inwardly smiled, not realizing before how much her love of what she termed vintage verbiage, had been influenced by him. But that thought took only five seconds to process before it dawned on her what exactly he was asking her. Rose hadn’t thought it was possible to be more uncomfortable or embarrassed until he asked that question. “What kind of question is that? You do realize how people get pregnant right? Do I look like I’ve had the time or physical capacity, let alone the opportunity to… to… for that to happen?!”

Coughing and shifting uncomfortably, Mycroft’s face turned similarly red. “Good! That’s very good. I know Mother emphasized that it was a wise choice to remain… chaste, shall we say, until you’re married. I’m glad to see you were listening so that I don’t have to have that conversation with you.”

“ _That_ conversation?!” Rose shouted. “How are we even having _this_ conversation? I have not had nearly enough to drink to have any conversation of this nature with you! There’s probably not even enough liquor in the world to make this seem anywhere near normal. Good god Mycroft! Besides, I’ve got birth control now, so can we stop talking about this please?” The words left her mouth before Rose truly thought about them and upon hearing them she went completely pale, her eyes growing round and wide in shock.

If Rose had thought that little revelation would set her eldest brother’s mind at ease she was very sadly mistaken, Mycroft thought wryly. Admittedly it took him a moment longer than it should have process that information, but he’d never anticipated those words, ‘birth control,’ being associated with his baby sister. What in the world did Rose need _birth control_ for?! The horror of it all finally sunk in and Mycroft responded the only way he possibly could in this situation: “That woman needs her licensed pulled! Prescribing birth control to a _child_? That is outrageous! How dare she?!” he thundered.

Pushing her plate away, Rose put her head down on the table. “My god, Mycroft, I am not a child! Nor do I have any need to tell you _anything_ about my body short of life threatening illness. I am a _woman_ and my potential sex life with my boyfriend…” Rose’s heart seemed to stop at that word and she immediately changed tactics. “HOW ARE WE EVEN HAVING THIS CONVERSATION RIGHT NOW?!” Her attempt at a thorough dressing down thusly ended in a high-pitched shriek, accompanied by a good stamp of her foot.

Silence reigned as Rose waited for him to respond and Mycroft grappled with how to best do that. “Admittedly, this is not how I envisioned this conversation evolving,” he finally said quietly. “I was legitimately concerned for your health. After Mother…” His voice trailed off as his throat seemed to close. “I wanted to hear it from you that everything was alright, first and foremost. The rest was… an unfortunate assumption that spiraled out of control.”

Taking a deep breath, Rose attempted to rein her temper in. While Mother hadn’t died from any ailment associated with her reproductive organs, his point was well made; he didn’t want to lose her too. Understanding the sincerity and concern that prompted the original question, she could, she supposed, forgive him for his big brother paranoia that spawned the second question.

Rose once again got up and rounded the table to hug Mycroft as tightly as she possibly could. “I’m sorry I shouted. I didn’t realize you were thinking along those lines,” she whispered. “Although inquiring if I’m pregnant is rather shocking for a whole host of reasons. Let’s just never talk about these things ever again, alright?” It was times like these that Rose missed her mother most, knowing the Holmes matriarch would surely have swatted him upside the head for being so very ridiculous. In that moment, Rose felt particularly bereft and, somehow, woefully unqualified at being a woman.

“And I am immensely sorry that I asked anything at all,” Mycroft admitted, holding her close. “You must promise to tell me the very _second_ that there is even a suspicion that your health is in serious jeopardy.”

There was absolutely no hesitation before she responded with a sincere, “I promise.” Rose smiled as he gently pulled her into his lap and pressed a kiss against her temple.

“I apologize for--” Whatever Mycroft was about to say was rather loudly cut off as Rose’s mobile ring tone went off, blaring lyrics from a Meghan Trainor song.

“ _Baby, don’t call me your friend. If I hear that word again, you might never get a chance to see me naked in your bed!_ ”

“Oh dear god,” Rose muttered. She simultaneously rolled her eyes at the irony of it all as a wave of humiliation swept over her that coincided with her cheeks seeming to burst into flame. She pressed her face to the top of Mycroft’s shoulder as the line played a second time before the mobile sent the caller to voicemail.

For several seconds neither of them did or said anything but it was Mycroft who recovered first, if one can call it a ‘recovery.’ Gently he pushed her off his shoulder and off his lap onto her feet. Crossing his arms over his chest, he quirked an eyebrow at her and asked in a frighteningly quiet tone, “What… was that?”

“A ringtone,” Rose mumbled. “A very inconvenient one at that.”

“I don’t _ever_ want to hear that rubbish again, do you hear me? That’s obscene Rosenwyn!”

With what little self-preservation she had fleeing her, Rose snorted. “Well it’s not like the ringtone I assigned to you!”

Mycroft felt nearly overcome by the urge to strangle his little sister, but managed to restrain himself for now. “Oddly enough I do not find that comforting Rosenwyn. Is it any wonder that I find it necessary to keep an eye on what you’re doing, if _that_ is what you consider appropriate? While we’re on the subject just who is that vulgar ringtone assigned to?”

This was the seventh circle of hell, Rose was certain of it, because that was John’s specific ringtone and they were entering worst case scenario territory in terms of revealing their relationship to Mycroft if things continued in this vein. “I’m sorry you think that’s vulgar,” Rose said with a sigh. “Look, this has turned into a disaster and I say we start over. I’m going to go back out the door, you’re going to let me in again, and we’ll start fresh without any of the nonsense we’ve been talking about. Please?”

Her tone and the look she gave him were particularly beseeching, and it gave Mycroft pause. A part of him wanted to find out what the hell was going on with his baby sister; another part wanted to pretend as if this conversation had never occurred at all. It was her next words that selected which part of him triumphed over the other.

“I’m so completely embarrassed right now,” Rose whispered. “If we don’t start our dinner over, I’m not certain I’ll ever be able to look you in the face again without recalling all of this in detail and feeling horribly embarrassed. Let’s pretend it didn’t, please?”

Mycroft nodded his agreement. “That would probably be for the best.” He smiled to himself as Rose headed towards the front door of the townhouse, determined to start their evening over. He waited until he heard the door open again before getting up from his chair.

“I thought that was you I heard,” Mycroft greeted her as he came into the entry way. “I’m glad I caught you. I never did take you out for that celebratory dinner for your new title so I thought dinner at home might suffice while you’re still resting. After we eat, I’ll show you where I put that plaque of yours.” Playing pretend had never come naturally for Mycroft, but he gave it his best effort just the same. Oh, the things he did for his Rose!

\----------------------------------------------

Late that night as Mycroft finally turned in for the night he began attempting to delete the disastrous first attempt at dinner. He was immensely relieved that Rose was not ill or pregnant but how he came by that information he would much prefer to forget. Why hadn’t Mother ever warned him that all this sort of thing came with raising girls? He was so ill prepared!

Just as he was wiping the last of the conversation from his mind, one word caught his attention, standing big and bright in his mind palace. “Boyfriend…” he murmured. “Boyfriend. Boyfriend? She definitely said boyfriend.” He moaned and closed his eyes, wondering when the trials of parenting ever ended.

\--------------------------------------------------

The following day Mycroft made a considerable effort to find out just who this new boyfriend was. How had he not noticed there was one? How had Anthea not noticed there was one?

“She’s spent a lot of time with Dr. Watson,” Anthea pointed out. “See, there they are again.” She clicked on a particular camera and they watched Rose and John walking hand in hand down the street. Rose was laughing, they were both smiling and then quite suddenly…

\----------------------------------------------------

“Wait, wait, you did what?” Rose asked John. “You got what?”

John grinned and reached into a pocket of his coat, pulling out a pair of tickets.

“NO!” Rose shouted.

“Oh yes, very much yes,” John laughed. “Here, take a look at them if you don’t believe me.”

Rose snatched the tickets from him, her eyes scanning them. Sure enough they were tickets for the Alfred Hitchcock film marathon at one of the local art houses. “Oh my god, how did you know?”

“You’ve only been talking about it and leaving notes around the flat about it,” John replied. “I sort of got the message that you just might like to go.”

She blushed a bit, looking slightly sheepish before suddenly throwing her arms around him. “Thank you, thank you!”

When she started to shout again with excitement, John quickly cut her off by smothering her lips with his own…

\--------------------------------------------------

For several long moments Mycroft stared at the screen as he watched John Watson walk hand in hand with Rose and suddenly kiss her. And not just kiss her, but _kiss_ her.

Anthea said nothing as she watched her boss and the show of emotions playing over face. Shock, horror, embarrassment, and a lastly white hot anger that etched itself into his face. And she had thought his reaction to the ob-gyn appointment was bad! “Sir… don’t do anything that you will regret,” Anthea warned softly.

“How _dare_ he?!” Mycroft demanded, bringing his fist down hard on his desk.

Anthea did not have an answer for him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The secret is out!! What is super over-protective big brother Mycroft going to do?! Give me your thoughts and suggestions!!
> 
> ALSO I must beg a thousand pardons from you all for taking so very long to update this! Real life is big time kicking my arse right now. Please know I will update as frequently as I am able to and will try to do better! I hope you enjoy this long chapter and that it makes up for the wait time. Off I go back to grading the 135 essays I ignored today to finish this!


	6. Holmes vs. Holmes Part 1

“Mmm. My god, this is delicious,” John commented around a mouthful of food. “You’re cooking breakfast more often love.”

“Not on your life,” Rose laughed. “I’m just doing it because I happened to be up already. But I’m glad you like my breakfast quiche.” She dished up Sherlock as well, sliding a plate next to her brother, knowing he would probably ignore it.

“What were you up early for?” John asked as she sat down beside him. He frowned when Rose’s response was merely shrugging her shoulders and promptly taking a bite of her own breakfast. He let out a sigh. “You’re stubborn as the day is long.” His sigh was tinged with affection. John reached for her free hand and drew it to his lips, kissing lightly but didn’t let go. “Nightmares again?” he asked softly.

There was no need for Rose to answer verbally, the flushing of her cheeks answered on her behalf. Still, she nodded to confirm his suspicions.

John frowned and tugged on her hand, gently pulling her out of her chair and onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her snugly as if they could shield her from the world. “You don’t have to suffer through those alone, you know that. I’ve told you that countless times and I truly hate the thought of you being too frightened to sleep all by yourself. Why didn’t you come get me?”

Sherlock, who in general tuned out Rose and John when they were being lovey-dovey with each other, looked over at them and scowled darkly at his flatmate. He cleared his throat loudly and arched an eyebrow when John looked in his direction.

John coughed self-consciously. “Why didn’t you come get Sherlock? Or me, even?” he amended. He saw Sherlock nod once and, clearly satisfied, ignore them again.

“Because you have enough of your own nightmares to deal with John, you don’t need to deal with mine too. I really appreciate the offer though and I may take you up on it sometime,” Rose admitted.

“You better,” John said firmly. “Or else.”

Rose smiled mischievously as a ripple of excitement went through her. “Or else… what?”

“Or else…” John tried to come up with something and failed. “Alright, so I don’t have a ready-made threat,” he admitted with a laugh. “But I take your well being quite seriously, as you well know. You are required by law to report any and all nightmares to me immediately.”

“Or me,” Sherlock added, scowling at John again. He was summarily ignored both by his sister and flatmate.

“Well that sounds quite serious,” Rose said thoughtfully. “But what law is that? I’m rather certain I’ve never heard of such a law before.”

“It’s a very, very important law, that I just made up right now,” John deadpanned. “And I’ll really have to insist you follow it or I’ll have to resort to some very serious persuasion tactics.”

Her pulse quickened as she thought about what that might entail. “Such as?”

“Mandatory cuddles before bed, along with chamomile tea,” he decided, nodding emphatically. “Yep, that’s definitely the route I’ll have to go and I’ll be really quite strict about it miss.”

Rose pretended to ponder the matter for a moment, tapping her finger against her chin. “You know, with a consequence like that, I really think I’m going to have to break that rule every single time.”

“Whatever am I going to do with you, my darling girl?” John murmured. He then chuckled deeply, pressing his forehead against hers as he laughed.

“Oh, I suppose I could think of one or two things you could do, _Captain_.” Rose practically purred his rank in his ear, grinning when she made him groan.

When she purred his rank at him, John felt the instant stirrings of desire in response to it. He quickly clamped them down, letting out a groan as he did so. “Behave, you,” he growled, lightly swatting her thigh. “And let me eat my breakfast.” He lifted her off his lap and back onto her chair as if she weighed next to nothing, but didn’t completely let go of her until he had moved his mouth over hers, devouring its softness and leaving her breathless.

\--------------------------------------------

With a spring in his step John left 221B and headed for the nearest tube station. A long day at the surgery awaited him, but he felt more than ready for it. In fact, he was already looking forward to coming home. _Maybe I’ll take Rose out again. A movie wouldn’t hurt_ , John thought to himself. Grabbing his mobile he googled to see what was playing. Then suddenly the hairs on the back of John’s neck stood up.

The ex-soldier could _feel_ the presence of someone behind him, following him and carefully slowed his pace while trying to assess the potential danger around him. In the time he’d been living with Sherlock, John had been kidnapped three times, drugged countless times (though admittedly those were mostly Sherlock’s doing), shot at several times, and who could even keep track of all the rest. Between all that experience and his time in the army, John was more than able to assess the potential danger, quickly strategize, and fight for survival as necessary.

Thankfully, none of that would be necessary this time around as John realized it was not a person following him so much as a thing. A sleek black vehicle slowed down alongside the pavement and John obligingly stopped and waited for the car to do the same. Crossing his arms over his chest and quirking an eyebrow, he was completely unsurprised to find Anthea on the other side of the car door when it opened.

“I do have a mobile you know.”

“I know,” Anthea admitted. “So does he; but alerting you to my coming defeats his purpose.” She gave him a look filled with pity that instantly set John on edge.

“He knows, doesn’t he?”

“Afraid so and he is…” Anthea searched for an appropriate adjective but failed to find one that fit. “He’s about as far from pleased as Mycroft Holmes can possibly be.” Anthea slid over in the seat and motioned for John to get in. “I’ve already called the surgery, they won’t be expecting you today.”

John sat down in the car and sighed heavily. “Well, that’s something good at least. Though for how long Sarah will keep me employed with the number of emergencies that seem to arise in my life I have no idea.” A part of him wondered if he should even worry about something so trivial anymore. What exactly was the Holmes patriarch going to do with him? The possibilities were, quite literally, endless.

Anthea felt an overwhelming urge to offer some sort of advice to John, namely because she knew Mycroft was overreacting, as he tended to do when Rose was involved. “If there’s anything I’ve learned in the few years I’ve worked for Mycroft Holmes, it’s that nothing upsets, infuriates, or unravels him more than something to do with his sister. I’m going to suggest that you proceed with extreme caution, which is far more of a warning than I should be giving you,” the PA said with a sigh.

Rubbing a hand across his forehead, John let out a similar sigh. He had seen this day coming, anticipated it even, and tried to plan for it in a sense, but there was truly no planning for what amounted to a faceoff with Mycroft Holmes over Rose. She was the only person on this planet who could bring the British Government to his knees and the person for whom Mycroft undoubtedly felt there were no boundaries or limits when it came to keeping her safe.

“Any other helpful hints?” John gave Anthea a bit of an imploring look, knowing that it was rather unfair to place the PA in the middle of this, but he needed all the assistance he could get.

“Whatever he says he might do to you, don’t believe for a second that he won’t or can’t. Tread very lightly, Dr. Watson,” she cautioned. With the mood her boss was in, Anthea couldn’t help feeling some sympathy for the army doctor.

During the next few minutes as they continued to their destination, John resolved to do three things. One, not text Rose or Sherlock about this; two, to remain calm and not allow Mycroft to rile him; and three, not to allow this to become a scenario where Rose is asked to choose between he and Mycroft. It was a solid plan and one he intended to see through.

When the car came to a stop, John followed Anthea into what amounted to some sort of underground bunker. The hallways were charcoal colored and sparsely lit, full of shadows and sharp turns. Anthea had no trouble navigating the labyrinth and they soon arrived in an office area that was no less dark than the halls had been.

Anthea crossed her office area and knocked briefly on Mycroft’s door before opening it. “Sir, Dr. Watson is here.” She motioned John over and indicated for him to cross the threshold into Mycroft’s office.

John entered the office, half expecting a firing squad to be waiting somewhere inside the room. Instead he found the room empty of anyone except Mycroft and himself, unless one counted the large portrait of the queen hanging behind Mycroft’s desk. Exuding an air of calm, he walked across the room and sat in the chair in front of the large desk. Crossing one leg over the other, John quirked an eyebrow at the man seated on the other side of the desk.

Mycroft spent a long moment attempting to stare John down. He had readily done so with various world leaders, radical groups, your average everyday goldfish and countless others. Yet, much to his disgust, John showed no signs of discomfort.

“Tell me, Dr. Watson,” Mycroft began slowly. “What the meaning of this is?” He opened a folder in front of him and spread out an array of photographs of John and Rose together, several of which involved featured the two of them kissing.

“Rose and I have begun a relationship together. It’s relatively new and Rose wanted to take her time in telling you about it,” John admitted. There was no sense being untruthful about any of this. Then again, there was a distinct lack of sense in this whole production Mycroft was trying to put on.

Storm clouds settled over Mycroft’s face. “Do you have any idea how completely ridiculous you sound, Dr. Watson? Rose is a child; you are a grown man and not a young one at that. This so-called relationship will end immediately and I will hear no arguments on the matter.” The look on his face indicated that Mycroft felt the matter was closed and John was dismissed.

Only John did not want to be dismissed. “Rose is not a child Mycroft. She is young, and the age difference is quite a bit, I’ll admit, but she’s a grown woman capable of making her own decisions. Trust me; I tried to talk her out of this--”

“Did you really?” Mycroft asked incredulously. “I find that quite hard to believe, given that these photographs exist.” He gestured in a sweeping motion over the images. “Additionally, I find it downright insulting that this is what you do behind my back when I have allowed you to associate with both her and my brother and have used my position to get you out of a not insignificant number of scrapes. Furthermore--”

“You’ve _allowed_ me?” John interrupted, his tone hard as steel. “ _You_ don’t allow _me_ anything. And for the record, I never asked for you to throw your weight around on my behalf. More importantly, your brother and sister are adults and can associate with whom they please, with or without your permission. I won’t allow you to dictate my relationship with either of them. Have you even spoken with Rose about this? About your feelings regarding our relationship?”

“I have no need to consult my sister on matters of her safety and wellbeing, particularly since her judgment over the years has been lacking in those exact areas. This is yet another example of her inability to make good choices.” Mycroft let out the sort of long suffering sigh that any parent would recognize. Rose, on her good days, caused him worry. On her bad days, he worried about her constantly and actively began seeking ivory towers to place her in at his earliest opportunity. Those were, however, surprisingly difficult to find.

“That’s unfair Mycroft and you know it. You cannot go around making decisions like this for Rose. You have to at least talk with her and--”

“ENOUGH!” Mycroft shouted, slamming his hand on the desk in front of him. “This is not a matter up for debate Dr. Watson. My sister deserves better than you, better than being the latest casual fling or conquest of John “Three Continents” Watson. Oh yes,” he paused upon seeing the shock on John’s face, smirking at the other man. “I am well acquainted with your sexual history and don’t even bother to try and tell me that you love her and respect her because if that was true, there would be no reason at all for my sister to have procured birth control.”

John’s jaw dropped at the mention of birth control. Certainly he meant to address that issue with Rose, but not until the time came that such a precaution might be necessary.

“You were unaware of that.” It was a statement, not a question, and one that filled Mycroft with considerable relief. “This means I’ve stopped this nonsense in time then,” he said. “You will end this… _thing_ with my sister forthwith and I will be watching you very, very carefully Doctor Watson. If things continue in their current vein I will have no problem at all taking further measures of a particularly... _unpleasant_ nature.” He let the threat hang in the air as his eyes bored into John.

“What happens between Rose and I is between us and does not include you,” John said firmly. “Issue all the threats you like, go on about age and whatever else, but the truth is I love her and I think I have for quite some time. You may still consider her a child, Mycroft, but she’s not. She’s a grown woman more than capable of making her own choices and it’s her that you need to discuss this with, not me,” John declared in a raised voice. His plan to remain completely calm was quickly coming to naught and he forced himself to take a few deeps breaths; losing his temper would get him nowhere.

Mycroft stood up and leaned over the desk, hands splayed on the desktop. “Trust me; I’ll be having words with my errant sister at my first opportunity to do so. In the meantime, You. Will. Leave. Her. Alone. I urge you not to defy me Doctor Watson, unless you feel the need to find yourself in combat once more… In the middle of the biggest Taliban headquarters I can find to drop you into, for example. How are your self-defense skills these days? Are you prepared for hand-to-hand combat, should your life depend on it? And trust me, it would.” He leveled a look of barely concealed rage at the man before him, almost daring John to call it a bluff and see what would happen.

John’s heart skipped a beat at the very thought of that happening. Mycroft Holmes did not make idle threats, particularly when it came to his sister. “And what about Rose?” he asked, his tone quiet and hard.

“If she’s intelligent, she’ll make the correct choice and listen to her brother who knows best,” Mycroft retorted.

“Seriously? You’re seriously going to do that to her, make her choose?” John asked. Though his voice was quiet, it now bore an undertone of sheer contempt as shock and anger warred for dominance in his eyes. “How you managed to raise someone as caring and kind as Rose is I will never understand, because making her do that is nothing less than cruel and I refuse to be a part of that. We’re done here.” Without waiting for a dismissal, John got up from the chair and exited Mycroft’s office, filled with grim determination.

\-------------------------------------------------

“No,” Rose told him emphatically. “Absolutely not, that’s beyond ridiculous.”

John took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He had known going straight back to Baker Street and having this conversation would be difficult. What he hadn’t counted on was Rose’s temper, which was surprisingly similar to Mycroft’s, immediately coming to the fore.

“Rose, I am not going to ask you to choose,” John said firmly. “Mycroft might be comfortable with giving that ultimatum but I am not. From the very beginning I didn’t want to come between you and your family and it’s clear that Mycroft is not going to let this go. I don’t want to any more than you want me to, I promise you that, but--”

“But _nothing_ ,” Rose ground out. “But nothing at all. Mycroft… he can’t do this anymore. We’re supposed to be different now and how you of all people are considered someone he’d object to, I have no idea whatsoever.” She jumped up from the sofa and began pacing the sitting room.

“Rose, be rational about this. Do you really want to destroy your family over me?” John watched her worriedly.

“Of course not but it shouldn’t have to come to that! And let’s be honest, if it wasn’t you, it would be the next bloke I try to date. It’s bigger than you John and he can’t act like this. Besides, if you’re not an acceptable boyfriend, then I have no idea who would pass muster! Probably no one. Mycroft is…” She let out a shriek of annoyance before crossing the room to grab her coat from the back of the door.

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he watched his sister, carefully noting her jerky movements, the set of her jaw, and the fire in her eyes. “Rosenwyn, I know that look and I really do not think it’s a good idea to do whatever it is you’re imagining right now. Are you listening to me? Rosenwyn!”

Rose looked over at Sherlock as she finished buttoning her coat. “I’m going to Mycroft’s office and I’m going to slap that smug look off his face and tell him that this is not the way we operate anymore, he and I. I simply _will not_ allow it.”

“Think very, very carefully Rose,” Sherlock cautioned. “Running to his office, having a strop and slapping him is not the best way to say ‘I’m a mature adult and can date whomever I please.’ Not to mention he is liable to murder you in his office if you even so much as _consider_ slapping his face. Admittedly, it’s a very smug face and undoubtedly would benefit from a good slapping, but I must advise against it.”

“And if his face is so well deserving of a good slap, as you yourself agree, why should I not do so? Hmm? Tell me that? Why are you defending him? He’s completely out of line!” Rose put her hands on her hips and awaited an answer.

“I am, for whatever reason, quite fond of you,” Sherlock began. “Having you around is entertaining at points, and I would truly prefer that you not leave this world prematurely. I would be intolerably bored. Additionally, John might be upset enough to cry if Mycroft murdered you and subjecting me to emotional displays other than your own is really quite cruel Rose.”

“You have to see some reason here,” John added, trying to head her off before she stormed out the door. “You can’t just go off and confront him, let alone slap him! Be sensible Rose! There’s a better way to talk to him than amid fury and slapping.”

“If he’s not going to be sensible, neither am I!” Rose shouted. Before either man could say anything further, she exited the flat, stomped down the stairs and left the building.

John turned to Sherlock, his eyebrows raised. “Aren’t you going after her?”

Sherlock shook his head. “There’s no stopping her when she’s like this and Mycroft brought it on himself. He should expect this result and he’s an idiot if he didn’t anticipate it.”

“Are you going to warn Mycroft that Little Miss Fury incarnate is heading his way?”

Again, the middle Holmes shook his head. “Nope. Though I would very much like to be a fly on that wall, as the saying goes.”

\---------------------------------------------------

If it was out of the ordinary for an angry young woman to be stalking the corridors of Whitehall no one seemed to comment on it. Rose Holmes walked with determination, anger fueling each step, ignoring everyone around her as she made her way to Mycroft’s office. Whether people she passed recognized her, had been told to expect her, or just decided to stay out of her way Rose wasn’t sure, but she appreciated the lack the interference. As she rounded the corner to Mycroft’s Whitehall office, Rose ran into her first obstacle.

Anthea jumped up from her desk to intercept Rose before she stormed into Mycroft’s office. “Rose, take a deep breath. No, I mean it, take a deep breath.” The inveterate PA stood bodily in front of the door, attempting to prevent Rose from walking into her own doom. “Your brother is with the Prime Minister. Why don’t I order some tea, or coffee, and you can wait. I’m sure he’ll be happy to discuss the matter with you once he’s finished.”

“I want to discuss it _now_ and I’m not going to wait. Not when he pulls these kinds of shenanigans I’m not,” Rose explained. “Please move Anthea, or I will be forced to assist you in doing so and don’t think for a second that I won’t.”

Surveying the furious young woman before her, Anthea couldn’t help but notice the distinct similarities of temper between Rose and Mycroft. Eyes blazing with fire, Rose stood up to her full height, her body rigid and tense as anger bubbled just under the surface of her tightly held together composure. Though given a minute more that composure was likely to completely crumble and disintegrate into a very loud show of complete and utter fury.

From the very beginning Anthea had been against Mycroft’s plan of enforcing a separation between Rose and John. Granted, Rose wasn’t her sister and Anthea herself had no real say in the matter, but even she could tell that this would end very badly in one fashion or another. After all, it didn’t take a genius to see the way Rose was able to so completely unravel her brother who worried about her constantly. Keeping an eye on Sherlock and potentially heading off a return to his old drug habits easily took second place to whatever the littlest Holmes may or may not be up to. There was a level of complexity and dysfunction in the relationship between the oldest and youngest Holmes that Anthea did not quite understand but was present nonetheless.

“Promise me you aren’t going to do something stupid. As I said, the Prime Minister is conferencing with your brother and he won’t appreciate being interrupted. Promise me you’ll tread lightly,” Anthea pleaded. It was for Rose’s sake that she tried to talk some sense into her as Anthea knew Mycroft would not take kindly to being interrupted and told off.

Rose shook her head. “I can’t promise that. Please, Anthea, get out of my way.”

With a sigh the PA stood aside and watched Rose open the door, slamming it off the office wall. This was going to get ugly…

Mycroft paid no attention to the sound of the door being opened, assuming it was Anthea with a fresh pot of tea. As soon as the door slammed against the wall both it and Rose had his full attention.

Unfortunately, Rose also had the full attention of the Prime Minister as well.

A shadow of irritation crossed Mycroft’s face as he began to address his sister. “Rosenwyn, I’m quite busy at the--”

“The Taliban?” Rose interrupted. “The Taliban. _The Taliban_. Was the Tower of London all full up?” The longer she spoke, the higher her voice rose. “Did you run out of suitcases to stuff someone into? Did Siberia have a giant thaw that I and the rest of the world are unaware of? _THE TALIBAN_?! Of all the completely idiotic and _insensitive_ threats to make Mycroft Holmes, that is the outside of enough! And just who do you think you are to--”

Before Rose could complete her sentence, Mycroft was out of his chair and rounding his desk at top speed. The Prime Minister watched with wide eyes as Mycroft took a firm hold of Rose’s arm and hauled her out of his office.

“Keep your mouth shut,” Mycroft hissed, slamming the door behind him. He continued to haul her through Anthea’s office and down the hall, his long strides causing Rose to scramble in order to keep up with him. Finally he stopped and, taking hold of her other arm, gave her a slight shake. “There is a time and place to air your grievances with me and in my office during working hours and especially in front of the Prime Minister _is not_ one of those times Rosenwyn. Your behavior is completely out of line and unless you would like to go back into my office and be put over my knee in front of the Prime Minister, you will cease and desist with this childish behavior and go back to Baker Street at once.”

Unwilling to see if he would carry through on his threat, Rose took a deep breath and let it out slowly, her mind reeling as she tried to decide what to say in response. It took another two deep breaths before she felt sufficiently calm enough to respond. “This is not over, Mycroft,” she said sternly. “Not even close. You have a lot to answer for.”

Mycroft’s jaw tightened as his eyes flashed dangerously. “As do you, sister mine; as do you. Now you will exit this building with as much decorum as you possess and think long and hard about the kinds of choices you’re making of late. I will expect some sincere reflections this evening. Am I understood?”

Rose seethed with anger and humiliation, her eyes practically boring holes into her brother’s head. Yet, even she would acknowledge there were lines not meant to be crossed and she at least had respect for them, even if he did not. “Yes,” she ground out.

Raising an eyebrow, Mycroft pressed her, saying “Yes, what?”

“Yes, I understand.”

Mycroft’s eyebrow raised another fraction. “Yes, I understand… what?”

“Yes, I understand and I will see you later,” Rose responded as she pulled herself free of his hold. Immediately she turned on her heel and stalked off down the hallway.

\-----------------------------------------------

“How did it go?” Sherlock asked casually when Rose returned to the flat. His eyes looked her over, expecting her to be somewhat the worse for wear. Surprisingly enough she seemed fine, and was even somewhat subdued.

“Not well,” she admitted, letting out a long sigh. “I nearly got smacked in a corridor of Whitehall. But it’s not over. I’ll be summoned home later on.” Rose smiled as Sherlock motioned for her to sit down. She was more than happy to share his chair and not at all surprised when he pulled her onto his lap instead of the cushion. “Where’s John?”

“They had an emergency at surgery and Sarah begged him to come in.” While this was the truth, it was not the whole of it.

“He’s hurting, isn’t he?” Rose asked, turning worried eyes to her brother. “You’re not saying everything, I know you aren’t.”

“Always too smart for your own good, Rosie.” Sherlock kissed the top of her head. “I have no doubt Mycroft’s careless threat will trigger John’s PTSD in some form or another. As for the status of his emotional well being, that you will have to speak with John about.”

Rose nodded. “But first, Mycroft and I need to work this out before it goes any further. I just don’t understand. What possible objection could he have with John? I mean, John is… well… John! My is blowing my mind in a really bad way right now.”

“I don’t think it’s entirely John that’s the problem,” Sherlock said, frowning in thought. “He would likely react this way no matter who it was, John or otherwise.” Somehow he doubted whether Mycroft would ever consider anyone at all to be good enough for Rose. “John is a male therefore Mycroft wishes to chase him away; the age difference certainly doesn’t help matters.”

“What is it with you two and men? First it was you and the one I had coffee with in Speedy’s, now its Mycroft and John. There seriously can’t be anyone who could possibly be more acceptable than John, age difference or not. Besides, age is just a number,” Rose pointed out. “He will round right? And get over this?” She leaned back against him and closed her eyes, letting out a frustrated sigh.

Sherlock nodded slowly. “He’ll need time, likely a considerable amount of it before he’ll ever be ‘okay’ with the idea. You’re quite determined to fight him then, for John?”

“I am. I have to say, I wish John had fought a little harder for me rather than give in so easily.” All in her anger, she hadn’t taken the time to think about she felt on that matter. Now that she had the time, Rose was finding herself feeling rather conflicted, and even a bit wounded, at John’s willingness to give her up. Though Mycroft could be rather intimidating when he tried and she was certain he had tried his hardest that morning.

“That’s probably my fault,” Sherlock admitted. “I had a feeling Mycroft might take things in this direction and I asked John not to force you to choose. I knew it would hurt you deeply to have to make that sort of choice, between Mycroft and John, if not be downright impossible to do.”

Rose lifted her head from his shoulder where it had come to rest and looked at him, her expression growing still and serious. Sherlock half expected her to scold him for that but instead, after a moment, she nodded slowly.

“Thank you for that,” she said softly. “That’s actually very thoughtful, in a way. My point is that I shouldn’t have to be asked to choose and that’s one of the main reasons why I’m so angry with Mycroft because it shouldn’t be this way. But I do appreciate you trying to help and anticipating this problem. Though to be honest I did too, but I was so very hopeful My would prove me wrong.”

Finding himself at a loss of words that might make her feel better, Sherlock opted for comforting instead. Dropping a kiss on her forehead, he gathered her as close as he could and swayed just slightly with her in his arms. This could become a very slippery slope in a relationship that had finally healed after so much time apart and Sherlock would be damned if he let Mycroft undo it all. _If Mycroft doesn’t at least attempt to come to his senses and ends up hurting Rose, she will be the least of his problems,_ Sherlock thought to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter than I wanted it to be but the second half of this is taking longer than anticipated, so I thought I would break it in two with the second part to follow ASAP. Besides, that amps up the tension right?


	7. Holmes vs. Holmes Part 2

By some small miracle, undoubtedly attributable to Anthea, Mycroft was able to leave the office at 4pm. As soon as he was dropped off by his vehicle, he sent it for Rose.

‘The car is on its way. M’

While he waited for the car to return with his wayward sister, Mycroft paced the sitting room. What in the world was she thinking? John Watson, while someone very reliable in terms of keeping both his siblings patched together, was too old. She was a child still, and certainly not old enough to even be considering dating a man so much older than she was. Over a decade older, in fact! And that display in his office? Completely disrespectful! Disgraceful! Outrageous!

When she arrived, Mycroft was waiting for her at door, rewarding her appearance with a truly censorious look. “My study, _now_ ,” he ordered the moment the front door was shut.

Rose hung up her coat near the door, taking a deep breath to shore up her bravery before responding. “No,” she said in a firm tone.

“No?” Mycroft repeated slowly. His eyebrow quirked as he attempted to stare her down, his displeasure growing as she continued to met his gaze without any inclination of being obedient.

“No,” Rose stated firmly. “I want to have an adult conversation and if we go in your study I know that won’t happen. Let’s go make some tea and then talk in the sitting room. It’s an even playing field that way,” she suggested.

“Given the circumstances I rather think an adult conversation to be a moot point as clearly, one of us is not an adult,” Mycroft challenged, his tone tinged with anger.

She raised her chin defiantly and said simply, “Quite.” Though his comment had clearly meant to label _her_ as the one not acting her age, Rose felt that it was Mycroft who was the one acting far more childish. She fervently hoped that the implications of that one word response were not lost on her big brother.

Without waiting for a response, Rose made to stride past him and head for the kitchen, only to find a tea service set up in the sitting room. Cook was in then! Perhaps that might assist Mycroft in keeping his temper in check. Or, given the fact that he was attempting to glare at her hard enough to set her on fire, perhaps not!

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed as Rose sat- or rather flopped- onto the couch before beginning to pour tea for them both. He tapped his foot encased in an exquisite and expensive leather loafer impatiently on the floor and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well?” His displeasure grew when she merely held out a cup of tea, which he ignored, choosing instead to make his way towards and stand over her, continuing to scowl.

“If you’re waiting for an apology Mycroft, you won’t be getting one,” Rose stated. His tea cup was returned to the tray on the coffee table.

“Is that so? You, young lady, are on very shaky ground at this moment. I suggest you tread quite lightly Rosenwyn,” Mycroft ground out.

“I will not apologize,” Rose repeated. “What you did this morning was abominable on so many levels I can hardly even begin! John--”

Mycroft quickly cut her off. “And charging into my office to give me some sort of dressing down? In front of the prime minister no less! Was that any less outrageous?”

“Are you completely serious right now?! How is my charging into your office and calling you on your outrageous in comparison to what you did? Don’t you even begin to equate them!” Rose found herself on her feet, attempting to meet Mycroft’s dark look with one of her own.

“We are not here to discuss my behavior. We are here to discuss yours! You cannot possibly be thinking of a romantic relationship Doctor Watson. That is beyond absurd and quite frankly I will not allow it. He is far too old. I forbid it!”

Rose glared at him, clenching her jaw as she fought to keep her anger somewhat under control. Shouting at one another wouldn’t help anything. “Funnily enough, I’m twenty now. Quite old enough to not need your permission and for the record, I am not seeking your permission either, Mycroft. I care for John very, very much.”

“You have no idea who or what you care for. Your life experience is insufficient to know anything of this nature. You are too young to date someone of such advanced years,” Mycroft countered. “Whether you care for him or not is irrelevant. You simply will not have a relationship with Doctor Watson, I _forbid_ it.

“You truly cannot just decide everything for me My! If I want to have a relationship with John, I will not allow you to stop me,” Rose challenged, with a sharp edge to her tone.

Mycroft scowled darkly. He did not take kindly to his authority being flouted by his mere slip of a sister. “Persist all you like, sister mine. Arrangements can be made which would make any sort of relationship with Doctor Watson quite… long distance,” he hissed.

“NO!” Rose shouted. “You couldn’t possibly do that to Sherlock! He needs John and John needs him! Not to mention that you cannot make these sorts of decisions for me Mycroft. This is bigger than just John and you know it is! It’s your inability to let go of your right to dictate my life. We cannot do this anymore, My! We’ve come too far you and I! It’s time for me to make my own decisions. Why don’t you understand that?!”

“Because your judgment is quite obviously flawed, sister mine! Shall we review? Shall we go forwards or backwards?” Mycroft asked, his voice rising with nearly every word. “Jumping off balconies… fighting…building cannons… smoking…theft…” He slowly counted off her lapses in judgment on his fingers.

Rose’s face began to burn red as Mycroft began listing ‘crimes’ from her past. “Mycroft--”

The eldest Holmes ignored her. “Drunkenness… lying… secret keeping… absconding to the continent…”

This was going down a dark path and Rose knew she had to put a stop to it, otherwise he might hold these things over her head forever. “MYCROFT! That’s enough already! This isn’t helping!”

“Hiding the fact that you were being aggressively stalked… causing yourself injury and not seeking medical attention… _competing_ with said injury. Tell me, Rosenwyn, how exactly am I supposed to trust your judgment? In fact,” Mycroft thundered. “If you refuse to see reason, I might find my way to refusing to fund your entrance into adulthood so that you are forced to move home where I can assist you in making better choices! Perhaps you might find yourself more agreeable now?”

Pure rage was written across her face as he made his threat, and eyes grew full of flame. “Are you finished with your harangue? Because I have something to say and I suggest you listen good and hard, Mycroft Holmes.”

Rose stood up to her full height and raised her chin defiantly. When she spoke, her voice was firm and even, without the merest hint of wavering. “I have no doubt that you could do all that and more, and would if you wanted to; even send John to some horrible place far, far away. But before you even begin to contemplate the logistics of doing so, I would like to advise you that if you pull some stunt like that I’ll never speak to you again. _Ever_. You and I will be completely done,” Rose warned.

“I don’t want that to happen, because despite how ridiculous you are, you’re rather important in my life, but I’m not going to give in on this Mycroft. Not on my independence, and not on John either! So think very, very carefully before you do anything stupid.”Having given her warning, Rose fell silent and stood there, waiting for him to do or say something. Surely such a proclamation as that would not go unaddressed!

Mycroft could only stare at his baby sister as she issued what could only be described as an ultimatum; an ultimatum with potentially disastrous consequences. Her words made his mind race a thousand miles a minute. _Does she mean that? Will she leave again? Is this some sort of manipulation? A scare tactic?_ Yet every question that his mind produced found no answer and he was, for perhaps the first time in his life since acquiring the ability to speak, at a complete loss of words.

When it was clear to Rose that Mycroft did not have a response, or perhaps didn’t even care to have one at all, she turned on her heel and stalked towards the front door. She didn’t even stop to put on her coat, merely grabbed it and went out the door, putting it on as she ran to catch a cab. Thankfully one stopped for her and Rose slid into the backseat. Immediately she took her mobile out of her trouser pocket and sent off a text.

Mycroft watched in horror as Rose turned away from him and was out the door before he could sufficiently regain his language skills. Should he go after her? Should he give her some time and space to calm down? _For them both to calm down_ , he thought wryly. In fact, he needed to sort out his own priorities before even thinking about broaching this subject again with her. The very last thing he wanted in this world was to lose her again.

Letting out a sigh as he watched Rose get into a cab, Mycroft was about to go in search of some tea to aid him in thinking about this whole mess when the sounds of banging in the kitchen met his ears. Mycroft had forgotten that Terre’, the inveterate cook of the Holmes household, was in and quite likely heard everything. She clearly disapproved if the banging was any indication. _There goes my chocolate cake_ , he thought with a sigh. Deciding the need for tea to help him think clearly outweighed Cook’s potential wrath, Mycroft made his way into the kitchen.

When he entered, Terre’ glared daggers at her employer, feeling more than a little protective of Rose. Having joined the family as a permanent fixture, in a sense, towards the end of Maud’s life, Terre’ Schuster had almost instantly fallen under young Rose’s spell. While she rarely criticized either of the Holmes boys out loud, she had her own ways of making her displeasure with them known; most notably the sudden disappearance of their favorite desserts or serving the least favorite of the vegetables for a meal.

“You might as well say it,” Mycroft told the woman with a sigh.

The tall, German born, later middle aged woman put her hands on her hips and regarded Mycroft with a stern eye. “She’s a good girl, Mister Holmes. You’re too hard on her. It’s not my place to say, I know, but it’s true. And I know you’re thinking that I just have a soft spot for Miss Rose, being motherless as she is, but that… That was not well done, Mister Holmes.” Terre’ shook her head and sighed. “Sit down and I’ll make your tea.”

Taking a seat at the kitchen table, Mycroft watched Terre’ bustle around the kitchen. She was one of the few people in this world he ever allowed to criticize his parenting skills, perhaps the only one at all save Mother. He really only allowed it because Terre’ cared so much about Rose, and also because the woman had been of invaluable assistance when Sherlock went to rehab shortly after Mother died. Thankfully she was wise enough not to offer her opinion, at least verbally, without gaining his agreement to hear it first.

Within just a few moments a cup and saucer were placed before him, the delicate tea cup filled nearly to the brim with strong Earl Grey tea. “Might I offer a bit of advice, Mister Holmes?”

“Just this once, I suppose,” Mycroft agreed with a sigh. He indicated for the woman to join him and once her own tea cup was full, she did so.

“Little girls grow up, the same way little boys do. For all we want our wee ones to stay little, they don’t, and treating them that way won’t turn back time and make them small again,” Terre’ stated. “She’s as stubborn as you are, if you don’t mind my saying, and you of all people should know how immovable Miss Rose is when she sets her mind to something. Perhaps you’d best think about your priorities, Mr. Holmes. Is this really a battle you have to win?”

“This is precisely why I give you the day off whenever I know there’s going to be an argument with her,” Mycroft grumbled.

Terre’ merely hummed in response before topping off his cup of tea. “Shall I be expecting Miss Rose for supper?”

Mycroft’s eyebrow cocked. “You assume I’m going after her.”

“Not assuming, Mister Holmes; I _know_ ,” Terre’ said. Never in her life had she seen such a thoroughly unhappy individual as Mycroft when Rose was away. The man might not say so out loud, at least not where Terre’ could hear it at any rate, but Mycroft’s sun rose and set by the littlest Holmes.

“Then at a minimum you’re assuming she’ll come home,” Mycroft countered.

“Again, I _know_ , not assume,” Terre’ responded with a knowing smile.

“Hmm.” It was as close to a thank you as Terre’ was likely to get, for the advice or the tea.

\------------------------------------------------

‘Things did not go well with Mycroft.’

Back at Baker Street, John’s mobile alerted him to a text. “It’s from Rose,” he told Sherlock. “Things apparently didn’t go well.” He’d missed Rose before Mycroft’s car had taken her to answer Mycroft’s summons and had been more than a little worried about her. Her bravery was certainly impressive, John had to admit.

Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh. “Sometimes Mycroft is a complete idiot. Where is she? Is she alright?”

‘Where are you? Are you OK?’

‘I need a little time on my own. I’m fine.’

John frowned at the screen. “She claims she’s fine but I don’t believe her. Always putting on a brave front, my girl is.” He quickly sent a response: ‘That doesn’t answer my question.’

“She can’t possibly be alright. Tell her to come home,” Sherlock instructed.

“You tell her to come home, I’m having my own conversation with her,” John said, throwing a frown in his flatmate’s direction.

‘Rose, where are you? Are you safe? Are you OK?’

As the cab pulled up to her destination, Rose ignored the texts in favor of paying the driver. Once she was out of the vehicle, she pulled her coat tighter around her before responding.

“She says, ‘I’m going somewhere in search of wisdom.’ What the bloody _hell_ does that mean?” John asked. Rather than frowning at the screen, he was now outright scowling.

“Ah,” Sherlock murmured, nodding his head. He knew exactly what Rose meant. “She’s safe and definitely needs her space John. She’ll come home when she’s ready.”

John stared at Sherlock for a moment, torn between confusion and frustration. In the end, frustration won out. “Clearly this is some sort of… of… Holmesian code that you two know. Would you mind clueing me in so I’m not tempted to call Greg so we can start combing the city for my potentially devastated girlfriend?”

\-------------------------------------------------------

While Sherlock attempted to talk John out of launching some sort of city-wide search for her, Rose walked slowly up a small lane. She always walked slowly here; it seemed more respectful and reverent. Taking a left onto another small lane, Rose began counting the rows, rather disturbed by the fact that her feet didn’t automatically know where to take her anymore.

Finally, she found the correct row, her steps quickening just a bit. Foregoing the nearby bench, Rose sat down right on the ground, unconcerned if the damp earth stained or even ruined her coat. Pulling her knees to her chest, Rose gave in to her tears and wished more than anything for the person whose name was carved on the headstone in front of her.

\----------------------------------------------------

Nearly ninety minutes passed before Mycroft went after Rose, heading in his car to where he suspected she would be. Upon arrival, it didn’t take him long to spot Rose in the nearly empty cemetery on a chilly March day. She was seated on the ground, knees pulled up to her chest, chin resting on top of her knees. Rose was still and utterly quiet, seemingly staring at the headstone in front of her as if somehow life’s answers or their mother’s wisdom might be communicated to her. It was a look he knew all too well.

Mycroft approached Rose slowly and quietly, uncertain if he wanted to break her out of her reverie. It turned out he didn’t have to, however, because despite his best efforts to be silent, it was clear Rose heard him coming. She pulled her coat closer and then held on to her knees tighter, her shoulders hunching a bit; protecting herself? Still he moved closer until he stood right beside her. “I thought I’d find you here,” he said quietly.

A full minute or more of absolute silence passed before anyone uttered another word. “Because you know me so well or because you tracked my mobile?” Rose queried.

“I had my suspicions that this was where you would be,” Mycroft said quietly. “I decided to at least eliminate this as a possibility before resorting to tracking your mobile. After giving you some space, as the saying the goes. I didn’t want to leave things between us the way they were when you left the house rather suddenly. And I was worried about you.”

It hadn’t felt very ‘sudden’ to Rose, but she wasn’t about to quibble with him over his choice of words. Another moment passed without either of them speaking or moving until she chose to break the silence. “What made you think I’d come here?”

“You and I are far more alike than we generally admit to.” Mycroft held out his hand and gave her a look. “Your coat will be ruined if you spend any further time sitting on the damp ground.”

Rose tilted her head to the side, stealing a slanted look at him. There was no hiding her tear-streaked cheeks and red eyes. “I don’t want to fight anymore My.”

“Nor do I,” he replied sincerely. Mycroft let out a sigh of relief when Rose gave a curt nod and put her hand in his, allowing him to help her to her feet. He then directed her towards the memorial bench they had placed at the foot of Maud’s grave.

Taking a seat, Rose looked at Mycroft, regarding him with somber curiosity as she waited for his response.

“I knew because this is where I came when I questioned myself or life; still come, in fact, from time to time. Naturally I didn’t expect any sort of response from Mother,” Mycroft added. “But there was something…”

“Comforting?” Rose volunteered the word.

The eldest Holmes nodded solemnly. “Yes, comforting. There is something comforting about coming here and either verbally or inwardly reflecting on an issue and trying to imagine what words of wisdom Mother would offer if she were here.”

Knowing it was difficult for Mycroft to talk about their mother, Rose overlooked any lingering feelings of frustration or anger and slipped her hand back into his, squeezing it tightly. “This is the first time I’ve come here since I got back,” she admitted in a hushed tone. “And I didn’t even bother to bring flowers. Some daughter I am.”

“Hush Rose,” Mycroft ordered sternly. “Mother would be incredibly proud of you and consider you the most wonderful of daughters. Of that I have no doubt at all.” He, on the other hand, had no doubt that he would be a severe disappointment to her right now.

“Why did you come My?” Rose asked curiously. It was unlike her brother to have any sort of open displays of sentiment and visiting a parent’s grave was just such a display. She watched as a shadow oh-so- briefly crossed his face and then disappeared.

“Well today I came to find you obviously. Before, I came because of you,” he admitted quietly. “Being a parent is a particularly difficult thing Rose, something you won’t quite understand until you are one yourself. Which had better not be any earlier than a decade from now,” Mycroft stated, giving her a significant look.

“After Mother died… you were so young and had so many difficult years ahead of you and I knew absolutely nothing about girls. _Little_ girls,” Mycroft clarified when Rose snorted. “I suppose I kept coming in hopes of gaining some wisdom about how to best continue raising you to be a smart, independent, and strong young woman. Nothing ever came to me though. Regardless, you have grown up to be just that and more: intelligent, independent, strong, loving, kind, and many more adjectives that are all very sentimental. It makes me think that somehow I didn’t do too terribly after all, no matter how out of my depth I felt at times.”

“Though whether it was because of you or in spite of you that I became all those things is a mystery for the ages, like the identity of Jack the Ripper,” Rose commented with a nod.

Mycroft’s mouth dropped open and he could only stare at her for a few long seconds before responding. “… You’re comparing my parenting skills, or lack thereof, to a serial killer who horrifically butchered his victims?”

“Wait, what?” Rose scrunched up her nose in confusion. “No; no of course not! As if that would even be an appropriate analogy in the first place. Lord, Mycroft! I just meant that my having turned out so well was a mystery for the ages, like Jack the Ripper’s identity, but never mind,” she decided, unable to resist chuckling. “It wasn’t a very important point anyway.”

Silence settled over them for a moment before Mycroft broke it once more. “Well, I answered your question, and quite honestly I might add, so you must answer mine. Why did _you_ come here today?”

Rose shrugged her shoulders a bit. “I’ve never managed to get any advice or pearls of wisdom from beyond the grave either,” she admitted. “But I’ve always found this to be a really good spot to clear my head when… when…” She paused to take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“When things are rough with you. You can really be quite...hard; harsh even. Sometimes a place to take a deep breath and think about how important family is helps me sort out what to do in response to that. So far all I’ve managed to figure out is that Mummy wouldn’t much like it that we were, or are, at each other’s throats rather than being a family.” Rose ducked her head, indicating her regret at having to be so truthful with him and use adjectives like hard and harsh. No matter what had passed between them or ever would in the future, the last thing Rose ever wanted to do was hurt her brother.

The fact that she said ‘Mummy’ rather than ‘Mother’ spoke volumes to Mycroft about how vulnerable she was feeling. After Mother’s passing, Rose had quickly adapted the more formal title. Whether that was out of reverence for the departed or for solidarity purposes with he and Sherlock, Mycroft wasn’t entirely sure. But when she was truly upset and hurting, ‘Mum’ or ‘Mummy’ always slipped out when the Holmes matriarch was mentioned in conversation.

“Thank you for being truthful with me,” Mycroft said quietly. There wasn’t a shred of bruised feelings evident in his tone, largely because Mycroft knew he could be hard and harsh when it came to Rose. He rarely truly intended to be but it was all too easy to forget in the heat of an argument how very deeply she felt things; how his words could either bolster her confidence or tear away at her sensitive heart. That had been a hard lesson learnt over eighteen months of constant worry and fear and it was a lesson he had learnt quite well. Mycroft would be damned if he made the same mistake with her again.

Mycroft reached for her hand that he wasn’t presently holding and almost recoiled from it after a slight touch. “Your hand is like ice! Rosenwyn Holmes, where are your mittens?” The words materialized more out of habit than anything else. How many times over the years had he asked that same question?

Reaching into her pockets, Rose was dismayed to find them empty. “They must have fallen out at the house. I was trying to leave very quickly so you wouldn’t see me cry and I didn’t even stop to check for them. Or notice that I was cold, really.”

“Whatever am I to do with you?” Mycroft asked with a sigh. He began rubbing her hands between his own, trying to get the blood circulating properly again. “We should go back to the house, or at least some place that is warm and serves tea. Bonus points for a roaring fire.” He added the last, trying to get a smile from her. “Isn’t that what you and Louise like to say?”

A small, shy smile graced Rose’s face, putting a bit of sparkle back into her sad eyes. “Yeah. You sound ridiculous saying it though. Men in Savile Row suits and outrageously expensive overcoats aren’t meant to use catch phrases.”

The eldest Holmes rolled his eyes and gave her ear a good tug. “Brat. Shall we go home and try to communicate more effectively? You weren’t the only one thinking deeply after you left.” Mycroft had a few things he wished to say to her and would rather not say them out in public. He would, however, compromise with a sort of neutral ground should she request it, provided there was the aforementioned tea.

“Alright, but I have two conditions that you must agree too. First, promise me we’re not going to fight anymore. We don’t have to agree completely, but I don’t want any more shouting or… or accusations, or anything of that sort,” Rose said firmly. “We start fighting again and I’ll leave again. Leave the house,” she quickly added. “Not leave leave; not disappear leave.”

Mycroft’s heart resumed its beating at her clarification of what was meant by ‘leaving.’ He nodded, indicating that she should continue.

“Secondly, you bring me home later and apologize to John. Not for threatening him, we all expect you to do that,” Rose admitted. “But what you threatened him with. He has PTSD My and that was… well it was cruel and PTSD isn’t something to mess around with. He deserves an apology for you threatening him like that and probably triggering things for him. I’m going to insist on it, because…” Rose took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Because I have that too and it’s bloody miserable. So I know better than anyone else what your threat might do.”

A long silence reigned, during which Mycroft stared at her and Rose attempted to look anywhere but at him. “I did not realize,” he finally said quietly. “Are you seeing a… a specialist?”

Rose shook her head. “I defy anyone to nearly be murdered on the pavement in front of their home and not come away with post traumatic stress,” she said quietly. “But no, I’m not seeing a psychiatrist. I have a support network and that’s really all I need. It’ll get better in time.

“Don’t pity me, My,” Rose warned. “I don’t want that, nor do I need that. I just need you to recognize that threatening John with being dropped randomly into some Taliban headquarters somewhere was cruel. Even if you didn’t know he had PTSD, he’s a war veteran who was shot in combat in Afghanistan. You should have known better. I expect better from you because I, more than anyone else in this world, know that you are not deliberately cruel except to those who deserve it. Daring to date your sister does not fall into the category of those deserving cruelty.”

Mycroft resolved in that moment to find out everything he could about PTSD and do his best to help Rose through it. That she could speak so passionately about how much Doctor Watson might suffer from his threat meant that she struggled significantly with her own post traumatic stress issues.

“I can accept those terms, if you in return will accept some hot chocolate and whatever Cook can manage for a light snack. She threw my cake out,” Mycroft admitted glumly.

Rose laughed a bit, shaking her head. “It’s a deal then.”

In a rare show of public affection, Mycroft wrapped his arms around Rose and held onto her tightly, even rocking her just a bit in his arms. “I’m sorry about before,” he said sincerely. “About bringing up your past mistakes. I still don’t necessarily agree with your choices of late, but that’s no reason to act as though the past is cumulative and… potentially unforgivable.” His voice was filled with hesitation, halting now and again as if he was uncertain of how to say what he felt. Mycroft let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding when Rose nestled close.

“Though do not take this apology to mean that you are ‘off the hook’, as they say, for hiding your broke rib. After all the time and effort I put into raising you, it’s a bit ungrateful of you to put yourself in such jeopardy, isn’t it?” Mycroft asked with just a hint of teasing in his tone. When Rose laughed, he couldn’t resist smiling a bit.

“Oh My,” Rose chuckled. “What would I ever do without you to put everything in perspective like that?” She rewarded him with a smile before sobering a bit. “You mean that though? You don’t still hold those things against me? It hurt when you threw them at me again,” she admitted. “I’ve paid the price, so to speak, for those things. I’d like to think I’ve grown up more and moved on, at least from the less recent mistakes.”

If it was possible he hugged her even tighter. “I promise, I do not hold those things against you. I may not forget them, mostly because I spend every waking moment worrying constantly about you, but that was uncalled for. Neither you, nor your actions, have ever been or will ever be, unforgivable,” Mycroft assured her. “Now, let’s go home before you freeze to death.”

As he and Rose made their way towards his car, she took her mobile from her pocket and sent off a text to both Sherlock and John. ‘My apologized. Talking sense into him, take 2.’

\-----------------------------------------------------

Sherlock and John both dove for their mobiles when they beeped almost simultaneously. After reading the message, Sherlock let out a sigh of relief. “Hmm. Mycroft’s learnt something after all,” he murmured.

John’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead. “That’s all you’re going to say on the matter? Were you certain he would make it right with her?”

“Reasonably certain,” Sherlock admitted as he began to pluck at his violin. “She is the only person in the world he cares about; sometimes he forgets that. I’m glad today wasn’t one of those times.”

“He cares about you,” John offered.

“Not in the same way. I am a mere brother, an obligation, a problem to be solved, a creature to be watched in order to prevent destruction of self or others.” There was no note of bitterness in Sherlock’s tone, only resignation. He and Mycroft had never been close, or at least not as close as they both were with Rose. Mycroft had been indulgent and even playful when Sherlock was quite young, but the older Sherlock got, the more their relationship was strained. That was far more Father’s fault than Mycroft’s and Sherlock was not so petty as to blame his big brother for absolutely everything.

John waited to see if Sherlock would continue. When it was clear he had no intention to, the doctor spoke once more. “And he and Rose are… incredibly complicated.”

“Parameters,” Sherlock murmured.

“What the _hell_ does that mean? That’s like the fifth time either you or Rose have said that and I still have no idea what it means. Would you kindly explain it to me? I need all the help with those two I can get,” John pointed out.

Rather than respond, the middle Holmes merely picked up his bow and began to play.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Snuggled up in a blanket with a steaming mug of hot chocolate in her hands, Rose stared at her big brother, wondering how to begin this conversation. Mycroft looked calm and collected, and had apologized very sincerely, but one never truly knew how long that would last.

“Why didn’t you tell me about your relationship with Doctor Watson?” Mycroft asked, taking the initiative.

“Because I knew how you would react. I wanted to take some time and see if it would even work first,” Rose admitted. “We’ve actually only been out on one real date. I’ve been sort of out commission thanks to my ribs.”

“Do you love him?”

Rose began to choke a bit, having inhaled at the wrong moment when he posed that question and sucked hot cocoa rather unexpectedly into her throat. After a few coughs and attempts to clear her throat, she attempted to answer the question.

“That… is complicated,” Rose said slowly. “I love him as a person, as a friend, as someone I am glad to have in my life. Do I _love_ him? I don’t know yet. One date doesn’t decide that I don’t think.”

_Things are not as bad as I had thought_ , Mycroft mused.

“But that’s sort of the purpose of dating. Have fun and get to know one another better and then decide if there’s love,” Rose added, shrugging. “So we’ll have to see. To be honest, I don’t quite understand what your problem with John is. Who could be better? Or is the point that no one would be acceptable?”

“He’s simply too old for you,” Mycroft said, his mouth puckering in distaste. “He’s nearly twenty years older than you! Aren’t there people your own age? What about that Alfred? I’ve had him checked; there are no skeletons in his or his family’s closet. I might find my way to deeming him acceptable.” _If I have to…_ was the unspoken caveat.

“Alfred is a very nice bloke, I’ll give you that,” Rose conceded. “But I’m not attracted to him. He’s my dancing partner and, if anything, more of a brother. Even that’s not quite right as a descriptor, because he’s not nearly as annoying as you.”

“I really ought to smack you for that,” Mycroft grumbled, his eyes narrowing at her. “However, that would entail the spilling of our hot cocoa, which is a crime without measure. But I shan’t forget, sister mine. When you least expect it, there retribution shall be!”

Rose rolled her eyes. “He’s far less dramatic than you and Sherlock are too. You’re ridiculous, My.” Still, she gave him a smile before sipping on her cocoa. “Is that your only objection? The age thing? I find it really hard to believe that the age difference alone was worth the stop you had earlier.”

“Rosenwyn Holmes, I _do not_ strop!”

“So earlier was just an interpretation of what a grown man throwing a strop was?” Her look challenged him to deny it again and Mycroft’s eyes narrowed in response. “Alright, I’ll let it go, since you have apologized,” Rose decided. “Seriously though My, what is the problem aside from age? Is that really, truly it? Not some sort of complex calculation of compatibility or dark secrets or what have you?”

The eldest Holmes took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He cleared his throat and tried again, but still nothing. _Bloody sentiment_ , he mentally grumbled.

“My? Whatever it is, you can tell me. I can handle it,” Rose urged. “Please tell me, be honest with me. It’s bound to be easier if we are.”

It was as if her words somehow gifted him with the ability to speak once more. “The thought that you might not always be mine to protect, poppet is… frightening in its reality. You mean more to me than I can even express and I will always watch out for you, try to keep you safe,” Mycroft said quietly. “If… if Doctor Watson unduly upsets you in any way, be forewarned that Sherlock will be looking for a new blogger.”

The enormity of his words sunk slowly into her. “Oh Mycroft,” Rose said slowly. “You… are unbelievably silly. I’ll always be yours to protect, My; _always_. John isn’t the enemy here, neither is any other man who may come in or out of my life. Nothing and no one could ever replace you and surely you’re the biggest idiot on the face of the earth not to know that! You’re the only dad I’ve her had, who could possibly replace you? Not even Sherlock could take your place, let alone John!

“And if John should attempt to do so, he and I would be over like that.” She snapped her fingers. “I won’t be forced to choose between my family, between _you_ , and someone I love. Neither you nor anyone else will make me do so. Please don’t ever ask it of me, My.”

The eldest Holmes sighed softly before reaching out to move a stray curl from in front of Rose’s eye, something he had done far too many times to count in her twenty years on this earth. Tucking it behind her ear, he then cupped her chin in his hand.

“Above all, I want you to be happy, healthy, and content with your life. If, for whatever reason, beginning a relationship with John Watson assists you in obtaining those goals than I suppose I cannot, nor will I, stand in the way of that. It would be… most hypocritical of me, would it not?” Another sigh, this one sounding particularly weary, escaped. “Just be careful, poppet. You have a beautiful heart and I would hate it see it cruelly shattered.”

Rose tried to find the right words to say in response to what was a particularly heartfelt declaration, the likes of which she was certain she had never heard from Mycroft before. When words failed her, Rose quickly put their mugs down on the coffee table and threw her arms around him, holding on as tightly as she dared.

Immediately, Mycroft wrapped his arms around Rose in response. “Such sentimentality,” he scoffed lightly. Yet Rose could hear the sound of a smile in his voice, and her own smile relit the spark in her eyes.

“Now this is much, much better,” Cook commented as she entered the sitting room. “Forgive my interruption, Mister Holmes, but supper is ready for you. Will you be staying Miss Rose? I’ve made Sheppard’s pie.”

Rose let out a groan. “Cookie, you know my weakness.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “You’re twenty, Rose. Surely you can manage to at least call her Cook, if not Miss Terre’.”

“The little dove may call me whatever she wishes,” Terre’ said with an indulgent smile. “Warms my heart, it does. I take it that’s a yes, Miss Rose?”

“A most definite yes!” Rose replied, giving the woman a bright smile.

“Are we having dessert this evening?” Mycroft asked, giving Terre’ a pointed look. He hated that the woman didn’t have the decency to blush after throwing out his chocolate cake just hours ago!

“Oh certainly, Mister Holmes,” Terre’ replied. “My scratch made Sticky Toffee Pudding sundaes, with an almond blondie base, tempura banana slices, real bits of pudding and syrup stirred right in, and freshly made vanilla bean whipped cream with a candied cherry on top.” The love and pride was more than evident in the cook’s voice.

_Apparently, my actions have met with her approval_ , Mycroft noted wryly. That woman had far too much say in the running of his home sometimes! It was a miracle he didn’t weight an additional stone by this point. He would, if not for his treadmill…

“Oh good heavens; if I hadn’t already said yes, I would certainly be saying it now,” Rose decided. She flashed the woman a smile and received a warm one in return.

“It’s always lovely to have you home, Miss Rose. Come along, both of you, before your suppers get a chill!” Terre’ encouraged.

\-----------------------------------------------

It was just past 8pm when Rose returned to Baker Street with Mycroft in tow. She opened the door to Sherlock and John’s flat, letting herself in as per usual, and waved her big brother in as well.

“Sherlock, make tea, will you?” Rose asked.

Mycroft frowned. “I’m not staying.”

“I don’t make tea!” Sherlock interrupted.

“Well go figure it out genius and make some,” the littlest Holmes hissed. The less audience members for Mycroft’s apology the better, yet she could hardly tell Sherlock that out loud!

Heaving a put-upon sigh, Sherlock got up from his chair and entered the kitchen.

“Well?” Rose asked Mycroft.

Clearly his throat, Mycroft crossed the sitting room to where John sat on the couch. He himself did not sit, preferring to stand instead for what was sure to be an uncomfortable apology. “My… apologies, Doctor Watson. I did not mean to cause you undue stress in terms of your condition. It won’t happen again.” Mycroft turned his head to look at Rose, who nodded her approval.

“My condition?” John asked.

“Your post traumatic condition,” Mycroft explained. “I’ve been made aware of the difficulties of such a condition and while it was very much my intent to frighten you into doing what I wanted, it was not my intent to trigger your condition.”

John stared at the eldest Holmes, hardly believing his ears. Mycroft Holmes was apologizing, actually apologizing. A part of him wanted to mark this one in a lifetime occasion on the calendar while another part almost asked the man to repeat himself out of sheer disbelief.

“Apology accepted,” John finally managed. He stood up and offered his hand to Mycroft, who firmly shook it in response.

Despite having been sent to make tea, Sherlock was back in the sitting room, his mouth hanging open in shock at Mycroft’s words. This was quite the unexpected development!

Ignoring Sherlock completely, Rose crossed the room to stand beside John. In one quick movement she stood up a bit on her toes, turned John’s head towards her and kissed him softly and sweetly. It was not meant to be a lingering kiss, rather more of a test to see if Mycroft would break, so to speak, under pressure. Or rather, under the horror of seeing his baby sister kissing a man.

Mycroft physically recoiled, taking a step backward, his face overtaken by a look of disgust. “That…” He swallowed hard before continuing. “That did not just happen. I am thoroughly scrubbing that imagery from my brain as we speak.”

“I can live with that,” Rose assured him. She didn’t expect Mycroft to be happy about it, merely refrain from interfering.

The eldest Holmes grimaced. “Walk with me, Dr. Watson,” Mycroft directed. It was, of course, not at all a request.

“My…” Rose said warningly. A delicate eyebrow arched as she attempted to stare him down.

“Fear not, sister mine. Dr. Watson will come to no harm… today at least.”

Rolling her eyes at Mycroft’s dramatics, she shook her head. “I’m holding you to that.”

Mycroft merely inclined his head before opening the door of the flat and stepping onto the landing.

Shrugging a bit at Rose, John hurriedly grabbed his jacket and followed Mycroft down the stairs and out of the building, falling into step with him on the pavement.

“I have given Rose my word that I will not interfere with your… _relationship_.” The way Mycroft said the word clearly implied that he felt such a relationship was still ill advised. “Be aware that this is not the same as giving my blessing to it. If my choices are to allow it to happen or lose my sister, well, that is truly no choice at all.”

John was momentarily stunned into silence at the thought of Rose presenting Mycroft with such an ultimatum. Not that Mycroft didn’t deserve it, the interfering git! His heart swelled with pride at Rose’s bravery and determination.

More than ready to take advantage of John’s silence, Mycroft continued. “I’m not convinced that you are worthy of her, Dr. Watson. But at the same time, I’m also not convinced there is anyone I would deem worthy of Rose,” he stated bluntly. “What Rose deserves, however, is another matter. She is…” He stopped to clear his throat, refusing to become overly sentimental in front of John.

“Rose deserves to have someone who loves her unconditionally and would never consider for a moment changing her in any fundamental way. Yet he must be willing to…” There was another brief pause as Mycroft tried to decide how best to word what he had to say. “Yet such a person must also be willing to take matters in hand when the occasion calls for it.”

John abruptly stopped walking as Mycroft’s words sank in, his face suddenly hot and the collar of his button-up a bit too tight.

Mycroft stopped and turned around, quirking an eyebrow at John’s look of shock. “I am well aware of the fact that you’ve taken Rose in hand when necessary. How would I not be?” he questioned.

The doctor swallowed hard. “You’ve never said--”

“Of course not,” Mycroft interrupted. “Your motives for doing so were the best motives possible: keeping that little idiot from killing herself in one fashion or another. The point I was trying to make, however, was that I suppose I _might_ be willing someday to settle for an individual with the aforementioned qualities. I have no intention of giving my blessing or settling for anyone any time soon. She is young, Dr. Watson; _very_ young.” The eldest Holmes pinned the doctor with a foreboding look.

“I have no intention of rushing her into anything,” John tried to assure him. “Or hurt her in any way. She is… a particularly special and wonderful individual and I have no intention of changing that. I love her.”

The very emphatic way that John said those words caused Mycroft to raise his eyebrows in alarm and suddenly turn his head towards the shorter man.

“Can I ask you something?” John requested. “Sherlock keeps mentioning something about parameters, and Rose has once or twice, too. Parameters for you and Rose and nobody will explain to me what the hell that even means.”

“Ah,” Mycroft murmured, nodding a bit. “Rose and I fit the parent and child relationship parameters. We decided on it when she was nine after a series of unfortunate events.”

John frowned slightly. “A series of unfortunate events?”

“Indeed; most unfortunate. Since I refused to claim her as my own, since she’s not my biological child, she decided it was a brilliant idea one day to tell someone at a store that I had kidnapped her. I was then arrested and our poor Mother had to come sort the mess out. Turns out it was hurting Rose’s feelings that I did all the things a father did yet bit the head off anyone who attempted to say she was my little girl,” Mycroft explained.

“So you changed your ways after that, I assume?”

Mycroft nodded. “She is the greatest thing I have ever accomplished,” he murmured. “The fact that she isn’t my own child does not negate that, because for all intents and purposes, she is. At least in all the ways that truly matter.”

“My god you Holmes lot are complex,” John commented, shaking his head.

“Has it really taken you this long to figure that out, Doctor Watson?”

“No, but you seem to grow more complex by the day since Rose wandered over to Baker Street.”

“Yes, she does have that way about her,” Mycroft agreed. “And now that we have the irritating sentiment out of the way, allow me to leave you with a warning, Dr. Watson. If you ever harm a hair on her head, or break her, believe that I am earnest when I say that the CIA’s… _tactics_ would have nothing on what I am capable of doing with my own bare hands. Where Rose is concerned, my wrath knows no bounds of law or human decency.”

John believed every word of that very ominous warning and met Mycroft’s eyes with his own. A silent acceptance of these terms passed between them.

Mycroft’s almost feral look of warning was replaced by a polite smile, but not one meant to be reassuring. “Well, this has been a… event,” he commented as a sleek black car pulled up alongside the curb. After inclining his head at John, the eldest Holmes opened the car door and entered the car, shutting the door firmly behind him.

\------------------------------------------------------------

"Why aren’t you drinking the tea you forced me to make?” Sherlock asked. From where he was seated in his own chair with a cup of tea, he watched Rose pace the sitting room. “Mycroft’s not going to kill him on the street in broad daylight.”

Rose stopped pacing and scowled at her brother. “It’s after eight!”

“Well, Mycroft isn’t going to kill him on a busy street after eight either!”

“Mycroft, didn’t kill anyone,” John spoke up as he entered the flat. He hardly had time to say anything more as Rose flew across the sitting room and into his arms. Putting his hands under her bum, John lifted her up in his arms as he kissed her. Rose’s legs went around him and John simply held her there, kissing her until…

“ _Ahem_!” Sherlock said loudly.

With great reluctance John put Rose down, only to grab her hand and practically drag her off to her own flat. Once he was inside, John swept her up in his arms and carried her to the couch where he proceeded to kiss her soundly once more.

“You brave, amazing, tenacious, determined woman, you,” John murmured when the kiss broke. He leaned his forehead gently against hers. “I hardly even know what to say. You _fought_ Mycroft Holmes for _me_.”

“You don’t have to say anything at all,” Rose assured him, brushing her lips across his cheek. “I happen to consider you a most worthy cause, John Watson.”

“I’m quite in awe of you, my darling girl,” John said sincerely. “Completely and utterly in awe.”

\----------------------------------------------

It was just after 3am when Rose heard a strange noise that she couldn’t quite place. Her eyes fluttered open and adjusted to the dark of her sitting room just before she was pitched off the couch and hit the floor with a thud. Getting quickly to her feet, Rose looked around for the source of the noise, as well as whatever threw her on the floor! Within just a few seconds she had her answer.

John was in the throes of a nightmare.

“John!” Rose called loudly. She didn’t dare touch him, knowing if he wasn’t fully awake he might hurt her, thinking he was once more in combat. “John! John wake up! You’re here with me, Rose, and you’re safe! John please wake up!”

She continued to call loudly to him until finally he stilled and his eyes opened. Tears began to slide down his face as John began to silently sob. Immediately he turned away from her, as if embarrassed.

“Shh,” Rose whispered. “No, don’t do that John.” She put her hands on either side of his face and turned it towards her once more. “It’s alright John, it’s alright. I’m here and I understand. Sit up just a bit more for me.”

Sensing she wasn’t going to let him be until he did what she said, John sat up a bit more and began to swipe at his eyes, cursing the tears that refused to stop falling.

Carefully, Rose sat on his lap facing him and wrapped her arms around him. “It’s alright John,” she whispered. “It’s alright. You’re here and you’re safe with me. It’ll be alright. Just hold on to me.”

John needed no further invitation and wrapped his arms around her in return, resting his forehead against her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said softly as his silent sobs died down. “I’m so sorry, I can’t--”

“Of all the people in the world, I understand and I most certainly don’t judge. My brave soldier, you don’t have to be brave alone,” Rose assured him. “I’m right here.” She kissed his forehead and held him for what felt like an age before either of them spoke again.

“Do you feel like trying to sleep again?” Rose asked.

“I don’t know,” John said. “I don’t… I mean…”

“I understand,” Rose assured him. “Why don’t you stay?”

John’s eyes went wide. “Rose…”

Her face flushed. “I don’t mean stay and _do_ anything. Just… if you don’t want to go, you don’t have to.”

“You mean…”

“I mean,” Rose interrupted. “Precisely what I’m saying. If you want to stay, if it would help you sleep to just hold on to me…”

John took her hand, interlaced his fingers with hers and whispered, “If you’re sure… _really_ sure.”

Rose kissed his hand and nodded. “I’ll be doctor now, and I prescribe a good cuddle until you’re able to fall asleep,” she murmured.

“And I suppose, if I’m to be considered a good patient, I’d best do as my doctor ordered,” John replied, giving her a small smile. “You’re an amazing woman, Rose Holmes.”

With a smile of her own, Rose stood up and held out her hand for him in silent invitation. After taking a deep breath, John put his hand in hers and stood to follow her into her bedroom. In that exact moment, when he took her hand, John knew he was completely and utterly lost.


	8. An Interesting Interlude

Pain; massive, massive pain. His brain, slowly beginning to wake for the day, began processing the world around him before John even opened his eyes. First and foremost was pain, because John’s right arm was presently tingling in that most unpleasant way limbs only tingle and ache when they’ve been immobile for hours on end. Secondly came warmth, that of the sun on his face, making him wonder why the hell he hadn’t closed his curtains the night before to prevent morning blindness! As he scrunched up his face, already squinting at the sunlight before even opening his eyes, he was assailed not only by the light but undeniable scent of lavender and the tickle of… hair? How could he be tickled by _hair_?

Squinting against the obtrusive sunshine and its blasted brightness, John slowly opened his eyes to discover dark curls on the pink pillow beside him. Blinking more, allowing his eyes to better focus to the brightness, he realized he was in Rose’s room. Or, to be specific, in her bed, spooning with her. His tingling arm was tucked underneath her, pulling her closer to him, their fingers interlaced. No wonder his arm ached, it had been under her for hours!

Ignoring the ache- it was mind over matter really- John took a deep breath and let it out slowly as his eyes roamed the woman beside him. Dark curls stuck out at odd angles across the pink pillowcase, many of them tickling his chin. He watched her chest slowly rise and fall as she breathed, noted the contrast of her long dark eyelashes against her soft, pale skin, and smiled at how prominent her sprinkling of freckles looked in the bright sunlight. Rose was undeniably beautiful, inside and out, and John could definitely get used to waking up next to her every morning. Though admittedly he would prefer it be in less pink and sun-drenched surroundings!

After a few moments Rose began to stir, as if his thoughts had been loud enough to wake her. A sound resembling a mewling noise escaped as she stretched before opening her eyes. Smiling at the sunshine streaming in her window it took her a moment to realize her hand was being held and she was quite effectively being cradled to a strong, broad chest.

Before she could say a word, John brushed his lips across her cheek. “Morning,” he murmured. “Is it alright if I move my arm or are you feeling quite attached to this particular position?”

Rose leaned up long enough for him to extract his arm before moving to lie on her back, looking up at John. “Morning,” she greeted, reaching up to stroke his cheek with her hand. _I could get used to this_ , she thought.

“Do you always leave your curtains open at night?” John asked.

Smiling at what seemed like an absurd question, she nodded, her curls shifting on the pillow as she did so. “Yes; I love waking up to the sunshine when we’re blessed enough to have it.”

“I hate waking up to the sunshine,” John grumbled half-heartedly. He captured his hand with his own and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss on the palm. “Thank you for everything last night. For being there and letting me stay. I haven’t slept that well after a nightmare in… Well, ever really,” he admitted.

“You’re welcome,” Rose murmured. “It just seemed right. I hated seeing you so upset and it was…” she paused, attempting to gather her thoughts. “It was surprisingly physically painful,” she concluded after a moment’s thought. “To see you that unsettled and hurting.”

John smiled fondly at her, shaking his head. “My darling girl, you are the world’s biggest hypocrite,” he announced with a chuckle.

Rose scrunched up her nose as she pondered what he meant and when it hit her, her face bloomed red. “Oh.”

“’Oh,’ she says,” John teased. “But honestly, do you understand now why it bothers me so much to think about you dealing with something like that all on your own when there are people right next door that love you to pieces?” Certainly he would much prefer that Rose come to him when she had nightmares rather than Sherlock, merely because he wanted to be the one to hold and comfort her. But he had no intention of edging Sherlock out of the comforting process if that was who Rose wanted at a particular moment. After all, it wasn’t a competition, nor would he make it one.

With her eyes focusing on his chest, rather than looking at his face, Rose nodded. “John, I’m in a very strange place right now,” she commented with a heavy sigh.

The doctor frowned slightly at her words, trying to sort out what she might mean by them. One would think between she and Sherlock he’d be quite used to discerning Holmesian subtexts by now, but shockingly enough he wasn’t.

Tucking a finger under her chin, he tipped her head up to look at his face once again. “I have no idea what that means, love,” John admitted. He smiled when she scrunched up her nose as she so often did when focusing hard on something. Unable to resist, he leaned down and kissed the bridge of Rose’s nose, drawing an adorable squeak from her. “Please enlighten me, because I’m reasonably sure you don’t mean that your bed is a strange place.”

“I’m sort of in a strange place in my life. I’m an adult, clearly, but I’m still attempting to prove that fact to my brothers, Mycroft in particular, and it seems counterproductive to go searching for a cuddle in the middle of the night because I had a nightmare,” Rose explained. “Somehow I seemed to be trapped in this limbo state of not quite an adult in their eyes yet obviously not a little girl either. It’s… frustrating.”

“I’d wager yesterday went a long way towards proving to Mycroft that you’re an adult,” John countered, a look of pride crossing his face. “And it’s only natural to want comfort when you’re hurting, darling, no matter what the cause of it or what time of day it happens to be. It’s human nature. And I highly doubt that Sherlock would consider your need for comfort to be a slight against your independence. After all, when it comes to you, he’s particularly… human. Affectionate.”

“He secretly enjoys touch as much as the next person, there’s just few he’s willing to accept it from. It’s a trust issue,” Rose admitted. “And he has overall been very supportive of me since I returned. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, and I suppose I got used to a certain level of self-soothing and self-reliance while I was away.”

“Well get used to not being so self-soothing,” John said firmly. “I’m here for you and it would be an honor to dry your tears at 4:30 in the morning and cuddle you back to sleep.”

Rose blushed prettily and closed her eyes for a moment before beginning to giggle softly.

“Oh, funny am I?” John asked, uncertain whether or not he should be insulted. “I’m completely serious you know.”

“We’re like a rom-com,” Rose laughed. “Now I say, “Where have you been all my life, John?” and you say, “I’ve been waiting my whole life for you, Rose,” and the scene ends with a kiss, or mad love making depending on the film’s classification.” She shook her head, smiling brightly at him before sobering a bit.

“Are you real John? Are you really real?” she asked softly, her eyes searching his. What she was looking for Rose wasn’t certain, she only knew she couldn’t tear her eyes away from John’s.

“As real as the freckles on your face, which I must admit look particularly sweet in the damned sunlight,” John responded. He moved to kiss the burst of freckles across her cheek bone but stopped short and pulled back from her slightly. “Wait just a minute... Are you implying that I’m not _always_ nice and sweet to you?” An eyebrow quirked as he

Mischief twinkled in Rose’s eyes as she tapped her chin, appearing to think very seriously about his question. “No, definitely not implying,” she decided. “Out right accusing is the correct terminology, John. I can think of…” she paused to slowly count out the number on her fingers. “Four instances in particular. They stick out very clearly in my mind.”

“Four particular instances?” John repeated slowly. He wracked his brain for a moment until it dawned on him- Rose was referencing the number of times he’d spanked her. It was clear she was teasing about it though, and he was definitely in a mood to tease in return.

“Oh, is that it? Just four times? Let’s make it an even handful, shall we?” Before she could respond, John easily wrapped his arms around her and rolled her on top of him. As she squeaked in surprise, he sat up a bit in the bed and carefully maneuvered her across his lap.

“John! John! John, I haven’t done anything yet!” Rose cried out, sounding a bit alarmed.

“Yet?!” he asked incredulously. “Haven’t done anything _yet_?” John started to laugh. “Definitely need to make it five then and preempt any and all mischief brewing in that sharp mind of yours.” As Rose called out again, though she no longer sounded alarmed, his hand was already poised in mid-air. It came down seconds later, lightly smacking her pajama covered bottom. “Is this what you were talking about darling?” John asked as he swatted her a few more times.

 “Yes, yes!” Rose squealed. Initially concerned that John was actually going to spank her for as yet uncommitted naughtiness, as soon as she heard him laugh, she relaxed and recognized that he was simply being playful.  “Jooooooooohn!” she called out in an overdramatic tone, before beginning to giggle as several more swats fell.

“Giggling? Are you seriously _giggling_? I must be doing it all wrong then! I’ll just have to try harder,” John responded, giving a dramatic shake of his head. Rose immediately responded with a, “Noooooo!” but instead of continuing on, he gently turned her back over.

“John Watson, you are a horrible individual,” Rose declared amidst giggles. She immediately snuggled against his chest, lying on her good side of course, and let him wrap his arms around her.

“And you are absolutely incorrigible. ‘I haven’t done anything _yet_ ,’” John mimicked. He laughed as her face flushed and she momentarily pressed it against his chest, though he wasn’t certain if it was sudden shyness or an attempt to keep from giggling that drove her to it.

“Just give me time John,” she murmured when she finally looked up at him. “I’m certain I’ll manage to come up with something!” Rose wiggled her eyebrows at him, grinning madly as she did so.

He laughed once more. “I don’t know why I’m laughing because I know that’s entirely true!” John leaned down slightly, intending to give her a kiss, only to be met by her hand instead.

“Morning breath,” she commented when he frowned at her. “Best wait until later on.”

“Oi! Quiet you, I’m trying to kiss you!” Regardless of her morning breath objections, John moved his mouth over hers, slowly at first then more insistently. A wave of pleasure rolled through him when Rose immediately responded in kind. She let out a happy sounding little hum when the kiss finally broke, bringing a smile to his face.

“All prior teasing aside, you’ve been… very excellent,” Rose murmured, speaking with as reasonable a voice as she could manage when her heart was beating wildly within her chest. “Fairytale quality, let’s say.”

John’s lips curved into an unconscious smile that lingered for just a moment before fading slightly. “All teasing aside, all playfulness aside too,” he began. “Your six weeks healing period is almost up and then you and I are going to be having some very serious conversations about your propensity to half-kill yourself.” He gave her bottom a firm pat, clearly indicating that said conversations would involve both verbal and non-verbal communication.

As her face flushed, Rose made a gesture with her hand, imitating a plane nose diving into the mattress and bursting into flames, complete with appropriate sound effects. “That was our romantic moment,” she stated, in case John might be confused about what she was implying. “Gone down in flames, and not even flames of glory at that.”

Chuckling, John shook his head. “Sorry love. I’ve got rather attached to you, I’d sort of like you to stick around for a while, even if that means I’ve got to utilize unpleasant means of persuasion to make that happen.” When Rose let out a huff, he put his finger under her chin and tipped her head up so he could look into her eyes. “Darling, you know it’s because I care, right?”

Rather than huff again, Rose let out a long-suffering sigh instead. “I know; just don’t expect me to be happy about it.” Almost as if to illustrate her point, she moved from half-sitting in his lap to lying beside him once more. Cuddling close to his side, she simultaneously pulled the bedding up to her chin. “Cold,” she complained when John shot her a questioning look.

John immediately pulled her into his arms, making certain to keep the bedding tucked tightly against her, and began to rub her arms with his hands underneath the blankets. “Better?” he asked after a few moments, giving her a soft smile that grew a bit wider when she nodded and gave a happy hum.

“Could we maybe go out my last night? Before everyone starts trying to take me to task?” Rose asked. “We haven’t been out much lately. Not that I’m unhappy with cozy nights in,” she hurried to assure him. “But it’s nice to get out, too.”

Smiling thoughtfully, John nodded. “Yeah, I think we could manage that. A week from today, we’ll go out and celebrate your recovery, pending good news at your doctor’s office. I’ve heard he’s a fantastic doctor that only takes the very best care of his patient.”

Rose laughed and tipped her head up to kiss him before snuggling even closer, letting out a contented sigh. For the next several minutes they laid there together quietly until John was almost convinced that Rose had fallen asleep again.

“I have the most brilliant idea,” Rose announced suddenly. When John hummed in response, she continued on, her voice laced with excitement. “Let’s spend the whole day, right here, and not even leave this bed today for anything at all. We’ll pretend the world doesn’t exist outside this bed.”

His eyes searched the room, looking for a clock; something he should have done earlier but hadn’t felt inclined to. Already it was half nine.  “That sounds like a marvelous idea, but one we’ll have to save for another day,” John admitted. “The best I’ve got is another two hours before I need to leave for my shift at surgery. I could make us some brunch though, to eat in bed. How’s that sound as an alternative?”

“That seems like a fair compromise,” she agreed. “And coffee?”

Chuckling, John pulled her closer to him. “Deny you your coffee, my darling girl? Never!” He promptly kissed her, as if he were sealing the vow to never deprive Rose of her beloved coffee. Feeling her pressing against him even more, her arms going around his neck, John took the opportunity to press a few kisses along her jaw before reclaiming her mouth.

At least he attempted to reclaim her mouth, only to have Rose jump away from him as though he were on fire. More than a little confused, John opened his mouth to ask what was wrong when Rose pressed a finger to her lips. It was then that the distinctive sound of a key jiggling within a lock met his ears.

Shaking her head just once, Rose signaled again for him to be quiet. It wasn’t an intruder, obviously, since a key was being used. Or rather, it was not an intruder in the traditional sense of the word. It was bound to be one of her brothers, either of which would very much intrude on her lovely morning with John and potentially have a heart attack upon finding them both in her bed!

The sounds of the door being opened stopped as Sherlock stepped inside the flat, his eyes scanning the immediate area for John. It wasn’t wholly unusual for him to not ‘come home’ in a sense after spending time with Rose and Sherlock was losing count of the number of times he had found them fast asleep together after watching films late into the night. He expected to find them in that same scenario once more, but instead found no one at all in Rose’s sitting room.

“Rose?” he called tentatively. “Rose, are you here? Have you seen John this morning? Lestrade’s got a case.”

Mouthing expletives, Rose did not respond. Instead, she threw John a helpless, rather apologetic look, knowing that discovery was imminent.

Advancing through the sitting room, Sherlock peeked in the kitchen and the loo and found both empty. Yet Rose was certainly home; her coat was still in his flat, where she always seemed to leave it, and her purse was on the table. He debated for several seconds whether or not he should wake Rose, assuming that her lack of response was due to her still being asleep. Though he hated to wake her, and god knew a Rose woken before she was good and ready to be could be a very cranky Rose indeed, it was vital that he find out if she knew where John was. The texts and calls Sherlock had been making for the past ten minutes had gone unanswered, leaving him with little choice but to wake her.

Decision made, Sherlock proceeded to push open the partially closed bedroom door. At the last second he added a firm knock, knowing Rose would appreciate the gesture even if he had no intention of waiting for her permission to enter the room.

Yet as soon as he did enter the room, Sherlock very much wished he had waited for permission! There in Rose’s bed were she and John amid a tangle of bed clothes, in what appeared to be various degrees of undressed, their bodies far too close together for his comfort.

A long moment of silence stretched on as the three of them shared looked with one another without saying a word. Part of Rose wanted to demand that her brother leave because she was, after all, an adult woman and who she did and did not have in her bed was her own business. Yet another part of her inexplicably felt the need to apologize as if she’d done something wrong. Though admittedly, that might have been greatly influenced by the horrified look on Sherlock’s face.

Clearing his throat, John attempted to find something to say, anything to say really. Who would have anticipated that this moment would be so incredibly uncomfortable? He couldn’t decide whether he should expect Sherlock to deck him, if he should tell Sherlock to leave, or if he should have pity on the man for walking into this and assuming the worst. Well, the worst in Sherlock’s book anyway. No one liked the thought of their sister in bed with someone, let alone the sight of it, particularly when that someone was your best friend.

“I can explain!” Rose blurted out, effectively ending the awkward silence. “This is not what it looks like Sherlock. I…We--”

“No!” Sherlock half-shouted, cutting her off. “No! You--” He pointed his finger at her briefly before turning it on himself. “And I, no! No, we are not! We _are not_ having this conversation under _any_ circumstances whatsoever!”

Whatever she had been expecting him to say, Rose had not anticipated the panic ridden tone and look of sheer…What exactly? _Dear god_ , Rose thought as it dawned on her. _He’s embarrassed!_ That was a far sight better than angry, but that look and the accompanying color rising on his face. In that moment, Rose actually pitied him, because she could only imagine was what running through that sharp mind of his.

Knowing his embarrassment was palpable, if not visible, Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and turned his back towards the bed. “I am going to erase the last few moments from my memory,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “And I’m going to do that in the sitting room while you two…” _Get dressed? Pull yourselves together? Make yourselves decent?_ All the customary verbiage for this scenario was wholly repugnant. “John we have a case,” Sherlock finally said. “Lestrade needs us at a crime scene.” He didn’t bother to wait for a response before heading into the sitting room, eyes still closed as he busily scrubbed this from his mind palace.

“Hey! Why’s this door open? Sherlock, what’re you doing?” a voice called from the doorway. “Rose is going to murder you if you broke in to put nasty bits in her fridge!”

It was a voice Rose would recognize anywhere, that of her best friend Louise. “Because of course she drops by unannounced right this minute,” Rose muttered under her breath.

“Go away Louise!” Sherlock snapped. “JOHN! HURRY UP!” The faster they left the building, the more normal he’d feel.

Rather than be deterred by Sherlock’s tone, Louise stepped inside the flat and put her purse down in the couch. “Why are you calling for John in here?” The moment the words left her mouth, the answer dawned on her. “Ooooh!” Immediately her attention snapped to the open bedroom door where Rose and John were still in bed, or, if one asked them, in hell.

“Hey, hey!” Louise called. “Well done you! You have to tell me _everything_!” She let out a little squeal of excitement and darted over to the door where she then casually greeted John with a knowing smile.

“Oh dear god,” Rose groaned, flopping back onto a pillow. “Lou, please don’t get started, this is not what it looks like!”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure it’s exactly what it looks like! I’m so excited for you and you have to give me all the details! John, can you go away now so I can hear how good you are in bed? Sort of awkward if you’re here while we’re discussing that bit,” Louise pointed out, waving her hand dismissively at him.

John opened his mouth, intending to tell Louise off when Rose beat him to it.

“ENOUGH!” Rose shouted. “You and Sherlock go next door _now_. We’ll come for you in a few moments. I am in bed with my boyfriend and I will not be made to feel badly about it! Neither is this some sort of… of… spectacle!”

Getting out of bed, Rose stomped across the room and slammed the door, then leaned against it for good measure as she closed her eyes. A long moment passed as she could hear Sherlock and Louise exiting the flat. Only when she heard the front door close did Rose open her eyes and let out a sigh. She could _feel_ the complete and utter embarrassment of the last several minutes blooming across her face.

Pushing aside those feelings, Rose turned her attention to John, who was still in her bed. “These are my people,” she half-lamented. “And this is, apparently, my life. Are you quite certain this is something you want to get tangled up in John?”

With a chuckle John got up and crossed the room to where she still stood, leaning against the door. One hand cupped her right cheek, his thumb brushing gently across it as he looked into her brilliant blue eyes. “I am absolutely certain,” he said quietly. “Madness and all.”

“Then you, John Watson, are a fool,” Rose responded with a smile.

Seeing the amusement in her eyes, John laughed and shook his head. “As long as that makes me _your_ fool, I can live with that.” Encircling her waist with one arm, John pulled her towards him, intending to kiss her soundly, only to be rudely interrupted by a shout from next door.

“ _JAWWWWN_!”

Sighing, John pressed a quick kiss against her lips before slipping out of the room and heading for 221B.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Louise stood awkwardly on the landing, watching as Sherlock and John descended the stairs. Turning to face Rose, she gave her a bit of a sheepish look, her face beginning to resemble the color of her red hair, and shrugged a bit.

“Look, I’m s--”

“I shouldn’t h--”

The simultaneous apologies broke off into giggles. Rose wrapped her arms around Louise and hugged her tightly before pulling her into the flat. “Come on, I haven’t had any coffee yet and I’m dying! I’ll make us both some and scrambled eggs or something.” She closed the door behind them and headed straight for the kitchen to start the coffee maker.

Louise tagged along, plopping a bag on the counter near the coffee maker. “I brought a huge cheese Danish with me! It was early-ish, so I thought you might like breakfast.” She flashed Rose a smile as she took in her best friend’s loose flannel pajama bottoms covered in paw prints and the matching baggy pajama top that featured the sketch of a dog. They were not the items immediately brought to Louise’s mind when one thought about dressing for seduction, but perhaps Rose knew something she didn’t!

“I really am sorry; timing isn’t always my thing,” Louise admitted. “There was prolly a better time to ask and get all excited about the fact that you and John slept together! He does know that we wouldn’t discuss his prowess in front of him for real, right? And how exactly did you coax him into bed with you wearing… well… those adorable but not sexy pjs?” She wriggled her eyebrows at her friend, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

Rose laughed and shook her head. “I hope he’d know! But I’ll reassure him about it later on. As for these pajamas, they were not meant for seduction, largely because I hadn’t planned on it.” Her face flushed a bit as she took plates down from the cupboard, offering one to Louise.

“Girl, I’m bursting with excitement! Tell me all the details right now! How was it? Was it all soft and sweet or hot and heavy? Is he big? Did you achieve the big O? Details, quickly, details!”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for the details Lou, because John and I did not have sex,” Rose said quietly, taking a seat beside her best friend.

“No! No way! You were in bed together and its morning!” Louise pointed out rather needlessly. “How does that happen if you did have sex?”

“John and I fell asleep last night and he ended up having a nightmare. It was a pretty bad one I think, he was so upset.” Seeing John so vulnerable and hurting had almost broken her heart. “I asked if he wanted to stay, if it would help him sleep if he could just hold on to me. So that’s what happened.”

Louise groaned loudly and slumped in her chair. “What a perfect opportunity wasted! Oh well, you need some better pjs if you’re doing to be seducing anyone anyway.”

Rolling her eyes, Rose shook her head and drank several gulps of her coffee. “I have plenty of seduction worthy outfits, have no fear! When I need it, I’ll be prepared.”

That was a bit of a stretch, or maybe a lot of a stretch if Rose was honest with herself, but lingerie had not been one of the things she’d considered just yet when it came to John. Perhaps Louise was right in that respect- she ought to invest in some. But how would she ever manage to do that without Mycroft finding out? If he could figure out they were dating and that she went to get birth control, Rose wasn’t certain she could really keep anything at all from the man, not to mention the fact that his name was on her bank account! That, however, was a problem to be solved at another time!

“Not that I don’t enjoy seeing your smiling, excitable face in the morning,” Rose continued. “But what brings you here this particular morning?”

“Our illustrious leader asked if I’d mind dropping off the soundtracks for your upcoming competitions. Bonnie signed you up for three of them in the next thirteen weeks. The first of which is four weeks from today,” Louise pointed out. She fished the CDs from her large purse while Rose groaned loudly.

“That’s going to give us just three weeks to prepare for that one, and then turn around and learn all sorts of new things,” Rose half-whined. If only she could be done resting today! She took the CDs from Louise and looked them over, nodding in approval at most of the music choices. “This is what I get for telling Bonnie I really need to be going to more competitions in order to qualify for championships next year. Can you imagine me at Blackpool?”

“I can! You’ll be brilliant as always. I’ll be your loudest cheerleader, or your hair and make-up girl if you’ll let me again!” Louise offered. “It’s the closest you and I ever come to dancing together anymore. Sort of went our separate ways in styles, us two. Don’t sweat it though Rose, you’re the best choreographer at the studio by far and as long as Alfred doesn’t start dropping you all over the place, you two will be great, even if you don’t have as much prep time as you’d like.”

“I sure hope you’re right,” Rose sighed. Standard competition in four weeks, Latin three weeks later, and a festival of various dance types three weeks after that. It would be a rat race with no down time at all. And no John time most likely either.

Louise easily interpreted these thoughts from the rather dejected look on her best friend’s face. “Aw, you and John will still find time together. I know you will! But I bet you could use some cheering up, or at least some boredom alleviation, and I have just the thing!”

“Killian?!” Rose asked hopefully. One could never tire of watching the dashing pirate on _Once Upon a Time_ after all, and what better way to put a smile on one’s face?

“Sadly, no, we’re caught up on seasons until the dvds come out over here,” Louise responded with a sigh. “Lucky bastards in the states. But… there is a ton of Take Me Out on YouTube we can binge watch! Bring the danish and coffee, let’s watch humanity at its finest!”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nearly eighteen hours after being called to the crime scene, Sherlock and John were finally back at Baker Street. Dawn was only a few hours away and John, at least, was exhausted and looking forward to something to eat and then collapsing in bed at the earliest opportunity.

“I’m bored,” Sherlock announced as their cab parked along the curb.

“We just solved a case. A case that was, I quote ‘a solid eight’,” John pointed out somewhat irritably. It had been hours and hours since he’d last eaten properly and it was far past the time for normal human beings such as himself to be asleep.

Not that such human failings ever plagued Sherlock; heavens no! Nor did it give the detective any sort of patience with such needs, earning John a dramatic eye roll and sigh each time he stopped at the vending machine, let out a yawn, or look the least bit tired. Not that John wasn’t used to it of course, because he certainly was and expected no less, but that didn’t always mean he enjoyed it at bloody 430 in the morning!

“We didn’t _just_ solve it John. We solved it four hours ago and were then held hostage by Lestrade for tedious paperwork and statements and Anderson’s mind numbing drivel and propensity to contaminate evidence,” Sherlock corrected. He stepped out of the cab, leaving John to pay as he usually did, and entered the building.

At the top of the stairs he reached for the door handle and rolled his eyes at finding it locked, forcing Sherlock to locate his key from the depths of one pocket and unlock it. When he stepped inside, unsurprisingly, Rose was fast asleep on their couch, the telly still on. Sherlock motioned for John to be quiet as the doctor joined him, whispering, “Open my bedroom door, will you? I’m going to put her to bed. Why she’s here more often than in her own flat I have no idea, but my bed is closer than hers at the moment.”

Crossing the room, Sherlock carefully extracted the orange shock blanket from her hands and moved it away before scooping her up in his arms. He couldn’t resist smiling at her, having always thought Rose looked the sweetest, and most angelic, when she slept. Once his bedroom door was open, Sherlock carried her into his room and tucked her into bed, taking a moment to fuss with the bed clothes and make certain they were snug around her. After pressing a kiss to her forehead, Sherlock exited his bedroom with a spare pillow for himself for the couch.

“She left us a note,” John commented when Sherlock emerged. He pointed to a piece of paper taped to the door before taking it down.

_Sherlock and John: If I’m asleep when you get home, there is poulet basquaise in the fridge that you an easily warm up for whatever meal you arrive in time to eat. It will be easy to spot among the bits of bodies and other odd growing things, promise. Love, Rose_

_P.S. Sherlock, please do eat. xx_

Smiling at the sweet gesture, John hurried into the kitchen and opened the fridge, chuckling quietly when he saw the container in question. It boasted a sticky note with the words EAT ME! written in large letters, making it impossible to miss. “Looks like chicken something,” he commented, showing the container to Sherlock.

“It’s a pepper and tomato chicken stew,” Sherlock confirmed, a smile spreading across his face. “One of my favorites in fact.” He retrieved some bowls from the cupboard as John pouted the container’s contents into a small pot and placed it on the stove.

“Rose’s resting period is nearly up,” John commented as he turned on the burner. “Should we perhaps coordinate our efforts in dealing with that?” As much as he looked forward to Rose being freed from her enforced rest, John admittedly wasn’t looking forward to addressing certain issues with her. He would do it, of course, but he wouldn’t enjoy it.

Sherlock nodded. “Within the next day or so, Mycroft will be texting and wish to meet with me to discuss that very thing, I’m sure. He’ll call it a parenting conference or something equally stupid.” He glared at his mobile where it sat on the counter as if it would somehow send his glare to the eldest Holmes. “I have a feeling he’s going to be rather unyielding about participating this time round, regardless of the fact that this is supposed to be my area and is likely to be completely insufferable.”

“Well don’t count me out of things,” John cautioned. “She’s got a lot to answer to me for, particularly googling at home medical care.” He shook his head and let out a sigh, knowing precisely how inaccurate and even dangerous some of the internet’s advice could be.

“I have no intentions of doing so,” Sherlock assured him. “Mycroft, on the other hand, will likely not be expecting you to join us and may object. Unfortunately that will just be too bad for him. You’re rather a part of this, and have been for a while, but even more so now.”

John raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “I don’t think Mycroft is going to be keen on anything having to do with me anytime soon,” he admitted. “I suppose I don’t really blame him in a way, but a bit less animosity might be helpful.”

Sherlock hummed in response and retrieved a ladle that looked relatively safe to dish up their now gently boiling soup. “He’ll come round, for her sake, and see what I see. Don’t mistake me for being more liberal minded when it comes to Rose and men,” he cautioned. “However, I cannot think of anyone else I would like or approve. You are, essentially, the exception to my rule.”

Passing a full bowl over to his flat mate, John gave him a smile. He knew it was quite a gift for Sherlock to trust him so much with Rose and one he had no intentions to take advantage of. “Have you given any thought to what you’re going to do?” he asked, taking a seat at the table.

“Do?” Sherlock repeated.

“With Rose.”

“Ah.” The detective nodded curtly. “It will depend largely on what Mycroft does. I won’t be able to talk him out of being involved in this and he’s… Well, I have a feeling he’s going to come down quite hard on her. I swear he takes it as some sort of personal affront that she dare to jeopardize her own health and safety after the many years he spent raising her,” Sherlock admitted. “So my response will largely be tempered by his. After all, we can’t all three of us spank her; that would be most excessive. I’m willing to let you and Mycroft speak for me on that front.”

John could sense an ‘and’ coming, but it never did. “And?” he prompted. He looked over at Sherlock, more than a little surprised to see a bit of pink flushing his cheeks.

“I know her very, very well John,” Sherlock reminded his friend. “Behind the film marathons, the cooking, the reading, the cuddling, there is a not insignificant amount of depression hiding there. As someone whose work defines them, gives them life, as Rose’s dancing does for her, I find my resolve to draw a hard line with her waning. She’s had a very steep price to pay, giving up what is essentially part of her identity and self-worth for six weeks. I am unconvinced there is any sort of punishment I could mete out that would make a better impression upon her than that.”

Sherlock let out a sigh, almost as if he were a bit exasperated with himself. “As much as I am loathe to admit it, I fear Mycroft is correct. In this instance at least, I am in fact a bleeding heart when it comes to my Rosie.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing, you know,” John replied with a chuckle. “It’s not a human failing, its called love, Sherlock. Love and understanding, which are important things to have, especially in situations like this. Besides, as you said before, it’s not like all three of us can spank her! Poor thing wouldn’t have a bum left,” he laughed.

“Indeed,” Sherlock replied, chuckling himself. “Have you thought about what you intend to do?”

“A bit. More than anything I’ve been thinking about the conversation I want to have with her and try to come to an understanding that will allow her to come to me when she’s injured without fearing my automatically forcing her to withdraw,” John said thoughtfully. “That’s my focus on it; preventative medicine.”

Standing up from the table, John took his bowl to the sink, rinsing it before setting it down. “Well I’m knackered, so I’m off to bed. Goodnight Sherlock.”

The detective murmured a reply, inwardly mulling over the possibilities of what to do with the most precious thing in his life. Unable to stop himself, his gaze wandered towards his bedroom door and a smile spread across his face as memories of raising his precious baby sister spilled out of her room in his mind palace.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so incredibly sorry for the horribly long wait for this chapter! Mortified might actually be a better word for it, even. For whatever reason I thought taking 3 grad courses while working 2 jobs was completely do-able. Turns out, not so much. Or rather, it’s do-able, but leaves very, very little time for anything else, including sleep! I’ll do my best not to keep you waiting so long for the next chapter. Please know that I am plugging away at chapters little by little in the rare snatches of time I can claim between all the madness that is my life. Please don’t ever give up on my stories, I have absolutely no intention of ending Rose’s adventures anytime in the near future! Thank you so much to all my readers and supporters, your comments and kudos mean everything!


	9. Comes the Day of Reckoning Part I

The sound of a crowd gasping and a host declaring a “blackout” drew Sherlock’s attention towards the telly. Rose had hooked up her laptop to it in order to watch ‘Take Me Out’ on a bigger screen. For much of the day, her reactions had matched the audiences’, interspersed with giggles and declarations of “Aw, poor fellow!” when a seemingly valid candidate suffered a blackout. Now, however, and for the past hour, there had not been a peep out of Rose.

Initially Sherlock assumed Rose had fallen asleep, but now, as he shifted his gaze over to his pajama-clad sibling, he could see tears streaking silently down her face. He’d known this was coming, anticipated it happening weeks ago in fact. That it had taken this long for Rose to breakdown spoke volumes about her inner strength and determination.

Leaving aside the photographs he was examining, Sherlock crossed the sitting room and sat down beside his sister. Without saying a word, he wrapped his arms around Rose and pulled her close. “It’s alright Rosie,” Sherlock whispered. “It’s alright.”

Turning to face him, Rose wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her forehead against his shoulder. Her silent tears quickly turned into great heaving sobs that shook her shoulders in a way that made Sherlock’s heart ache.  Holding her even tighter, Sherlock began to rock her, swaying gently from side to side. Resting his cheek on top of Rose’s dark curls, Sherlock made soft shushing sounds as he rocked her. How long they stayed that way, he wasn’t certain, but it felt like an eternity before Rose’s sobs died down to sniffles.

“Sherlock, I don’t think I can take even one more hour,” Rose murmured, her forehead still resting against his shoulder. “I just… There’s almost not even words. What is the point of my life right now?! What has been the point of my life for weeks on end? Absolutely nothing! I don’t even know what to do with myself anymore and it’s killing me! Sherlock, I--” Rose’s voice cracked and she stopped talking, though her sniffles grew more pronounced.

“You’re so close Rosie. Just a few more days,” Sherlock murmured, kissing the top of her head. “But I know precisely how you feel. I know how hard it is to be utterly deprived of the very thing that gives you life. It eats at you, it’s all you can think about and you question what your purpose is without it. I know, because I’ve been there.”

“When you were in rehab?” Rose asked softly, almost as if she was uncertain she should bring that up. She immediately felt him hold onto her tighter in response to her question.

There was a brief pause as Sherlock closed his eyes and wished he could do that, among other parts of his life, all over again and make better choices. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I know, and that is why I am so incredibly proud of you.”

Rose looked up at him for the first time since he’d come to cuddle her, her eyes searching his for a moment and finding nothing but absolute sincerity there.

“I’m so proud of you Rose,” Sherlock went on, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’ve been very mature and responsible about this; taken into consideration the long-term effects that not resting now could bring, rather than dancing anyway just to banish that feeling of uselessness. It’s not easy to make that choice, and to make it each time you are tempted to disregard resting is an achievement. You should be proud of yourself Rose, of how strong you are. Its things like this that make me so proud of the person you have become, and are still becoming, Rosie.”

As Sherlock waited for her to respond, because it looked as if she might have something to say, he was dismayed to see tears once more streaking down her face. “No, no, no more tears! I was trying to make you feel better, not make you cry again,” he huffed.

She gave him a small smile and shook her head. “Happy tears,” Rose assured him. “Happy tears because someone understands exactly how I feel, how completely awful this has been. Someone sees the efforts it’s taken to do as I’m told for once.” Her words drew a snort from Sherlock, which only made Rose smile even more.

With the pads of his thumbs, Sherlock brushed away the few ‘happy’ tears that were falling.

“Are you horribly mad at me?” she asked softly, ducking her head a bit. It was growing harder and harder to not think about her day of reckoning, so to speak, that would undoubtedly come on Saturday. The idea of both her brothers and John being angry with her was unpleasant to say the least, not to mention the fact that she was likely to face some serious punishment from the lot of them.

“I was,” Sherlock admitted. “But not anymore. I can’t possibly bring myself to be, not after how difficult this has been for you. I’ve watched you struggle for nearly six weeks to be good, attempting to hide how unhappy you’ve been. There’s no punishment I could ever give you that would be greater or make more of an impact on you than six weeks without dancing even a step.”

Rose put her arms around Sherlock’s neck and hugged him tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for understanding. Best big brother ever.”

Sherlock chuckled, the sound of it rumbling through her ears. “You’re welcome,” he assured her, kissing her curly head once more. “Don’t expect such understanding from Mycroft, however. But I will do my best to mitigate things for you, as long as you promise that you’ll hold out until you’re officially released from resting.”

“Promise, I promise,” Rose immediately responded, an urgency to her tone.

Just then, Sherlock’s mobile chirped. With a sigh the consulting detective retrieved it from his pocket and read the text.

‘We need to discuss the baby. 8pm tomorrow at the house. M’

Unable to keep from snooping, Rose peeked at the screen and promptly let out a huff brimming with resentment. “Will you two ever stop referring to me that way? I’m twenty,” she pointed out as she pulled away from him slightly and cocked an eyebrow.

“No, and I think you’d secretly be sad if we ever did,” Sherlock retorted smugly. He didn’t even try to duck out of the way when Rose promptly smacked him with a pillow.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

At just before 8 pm the following day, Mycroft looked up from his desk at the sound of feet in the hallway. There were two feet too many and the source of the second pair was readily noticeable as Sherlock entered the room and was promptly followed by John Watson.

“The last time I checked, brother mine, our family unit consisted of three, not four,” Mycroft began, a hint of annoyance already coloring his tone.

“It does indeed. Your point being?” Sherlock asked as he flopped onto the small sofa. He couldn’t resist flashing Mycroft a rather smug look, rather enjoying his discomfort.

“My point being that this is a parenting conference and not a place for Dr. Watson to be.” Mycroft steadily avoided directly addressing the man in question, preferring to try staring Sherlock down instead. “We’ve managed not to make a complete blunder of it this far and I’m certain we can continue on without the good doctor’s unsolicited opinions.” The eldest Holmes ignored the prickling of irony his mind was registering. Just a few weeks ago, blissfully unaware of his sister’s growing attachment to the army doctor, Mycroft would not have objected to John’s inclusion in such a meeting. Now, however, everything was different and Mycroft was feeling particularly territorial, especially as the man in question was invading his office!

Feeling more than a little uncomfortable in the thick tension presently choking the room, the man whose presence was being debated found himself drawn to a set of bookshelves. Photographs were liberally strewn throughout the shelves, each featuring Rose at a variety of dance competitions. Some of them even featured the whole family as Rose proudly displayed her latest trophy. _She looks so much like her mother; they all do_. _And she’s so small, just a little Rosette._ That thought in particular made John smile, as did the fact that the photographs existed in this location at all. One did not take Mycroft Holmes for the sentimental kind and yet each frame was another example of just that, every image somehow sweeter than the one before.

“Kindly step away from my bookshelves, Dr. Watson,” Mycroft ordered upon seeing John reach for a picture frame. He disliked the idea of anyone seeing the particular photographs he’d chosen to display in his office. This was his inner sanctum in a house that for much of his life had been the scene of utter chaos. Each photo was chosen for a specific reason or memory, displayed in the safety of this room of calm among the storm and not meant to be viewed by an outsider. Even if John Watson was the least ‘outside’ of outsiders.

John dutifully moved away from the bookshelves and took a seat beside Sherlock on the small sofa.

“This is family matter Sherlock,” Mycroft commented, glaring darkly at his smug little brother.

Sherlock sighed heavily and then began speaking slowly, as if talking to someone of slightly dubiously intelligence. “And John _is_ family. Not to mention that he has some grievances of his own with Rose.”

“That’s the first reasonable argument you’ve made thus far,” Mycroft muttered before giving his full attention to John. A quirked eyebrow indicated that the doctor should state his reasons for being displeased with the littlest Holmes.

“She and I have talked about her tendencies to over use things like ibuprofen before,” John began. “At least twice prior to this business with her rib. She was using as many as four every few hours! How she managed to stay conscious on that dosage I can’t even begin to tell you, but that’s very, very dangerous and I’m rather put out with her to be honest. She doesn’t take it seriously when I tell her that’s unsafe.”

“Welcome to my world, Dr. Watson. She hasn’t taken me seriously for the past twenty years anytime safety is a factor,” Mycroft replied. “Though I hope being ‘put out’ with her is putting it mildly.”

“I was furious when I found out, which was completely accidental. She was telling the emergency room physician and I happened to overhear, otherwise we might all be blissfully unaware of that little gem of nonsense,” John grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m no longer furious but I most definitely intend to make it very clear that those sorts of choices are not acceptable, particularly when I could easily treat any injuries she has and prescribe proper medication when needed. There’s no good reason for her to self-medicate like that!” There was no hiding the annoyance in his tone by the time John finished speaking.

“It would seem you and I are on the same page then,” Mycroft admitted. “You may stay. The question we must deliberate now, gentlemen, is what to do with that little idiot. Sherlock, why don’t you begin? I imagine you intend to plead for leniency on her behalf as usual?”

Sherlock’s jaw tightened as he bristled with irritation. “I am, but only because it’s warranted. She’s been utterly miserable for six weeks Mycroft. Six whole weeks without any sort of purpose to her life and while you may not have the capacity to understand how that feels, rest assured that I do. Rose has been depressed--”

“A condition of her own making,” Mycroft interrupted. “I’m not in the mood to be sympathetic when her depression has been caused by her own actions and she has other uses than dancing. If she cannot be bothered to find them and exercise them during these past weeks, that is hardly something to take into consideration. You’ll not persuade me to let this go Sherlock and if that is your end game, I suggest we move forward.”

As Sherlock opened his mouth to begin arguing, it dawned on John that this was essentially a picture of Rose’s childhood going on in front of him. One brother stern and unyielding when it came to rules and safety while the other’s emotional connection with Rose sought to balance that out, with some sort of middle ground probably being achieved each time. Or at least he hoped a middle ground was achieved, or nearly so, on a semi-regular basis. How Rose had ever formed a close relationship with Mycroft he couldn’t even begin to imagine, if this was the sort of response from him she’d met over and over again after misbehavior. John had no doubt that misbehavior of one sort or another was a rather regular occurrence, likely with Sherlock acting as a partner in crime if not making any legitimate efforts to curb Rose’s natural streak of mischief.

All this inward reflection caused him to miss a portion of the argument going on between the two brothers, at least until Sherlock shot up from the sofa and stalked over to the desk.

“NO!” Sherlock thundered, slamming his hand on Mycroft’s desk. “I won’t allow that Mycroft! I don’t disagree that there are actions Rose needs to answer to both you and John for, but I _will not_ allow you to do that.”

Mycroft, unphased by Sherlock’s dramatic display, merely gave his brother a penetrating look. “Precisely how do you intend to stop me, Sherlock? If you’re bowing out of this in terms of disciplinary measures, which I completely anticipated, how do you justify dictating how exactly I respond to Rose’s outrageous disregard for her well-being?”

Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, though he wasn’t entirely sure why, John cleared his throat to get their attention. “I believe I’ve missed something. What are we arguing about?”

“He--” Sherlock paused to point an accusing finger rather close to Mycroft’s face. “Wants to cane her and I’m not going to allow that.”

The doctor’s jaw dropped. Cane her? Bloody hell! Apparently Mycroft was taking this far more seriously than he’d even realized. “That’s a bit severe, don’t you think?” John asked quietly.

“No, I don’t think. Serious misbehavior calls for a serious response and I’d rather like her to keep living for a while. God only knows why sometimes,” Mycroft grumbled. “Sherlock, however, is a bleeding heart, as per usual.”

Sherlock slammed his fist on the desk again and closed what little space there was between his and Mycroft’s face. “You _hurt_ her Mycroft! I will not allow you to do that again!”

Mycroft now stood up, attempting to tower over Sherlock. “I did no such thing! How dare you say that?”

“Because I saw and I heard Mycroft! Do you really want to dredge up memories of that night? You _broke_ her,” Sherlock growled.

“I did not break her, I did not do anything other than give her the caning she very much deserved!”

“Well you weren’t the one whose sister appeared hysterical and shivering at a crime scene with twelve fresh cane stripes telling me ‘Mycroft doesn’t love me anymore’ were you? No, I had to try and assure her that despite the fact you had said unforgiveable things to her that deep down you still loved her! And let me tell you Mycroft that was not easy, particularly when all I wanted to do was come break your face!”

Within seconds what should have been a calm conversation nearly came to blows, with John watching it all in horror on the couch. _Was Sherlock actually serious? They’re not really going to hit each other, are they? My god, I need some tea because I can’t handle these two. I wonder where the kitchen is. Would they even notice if I slipped out of the room in search of tea?_

“For god sakes Mycroft think about what you said to her that night! Think about it, really think back to that night, and tell me that’s something you want her to remember?” Sherlock finally challenged.

“Fine, but you’re exaggerating Sherlock, I’m sure of it.” Taking his seat once more, Mycroft thought back to the night in question a little more than six years prior. Rose had been brought home in a police vehicle, in trouble _again_ …

                _“I’m sorry, I’m sorry My, please!” Rose shouted. “Don’t!”_

_“You’re not sorry at all,” Mycroft growled as he grabbed her arm and began dragging her towards his desk. “But I can assure you that you will be in short order. This is the last time you will ever be brought home by police Rosenwyn Holmes! BEND OVER NOW!”_

As Mycroft began to reexamine his memories, Sherlock motioned to John before exiting the study. “When he remembers in full, he’ll need a minute to come to terms with his idiocy,” he said quietly. “In the meantime, we might as well get some tea.”

“Mycroft, he didn’t…” John couldn’t even quite get the question out. The man had a temper, particularly when it came to Rose, but he couldn’t imagine even Mycroft going so far out of bounds.

“Did he abuse her? No. Twelve was far too much though. She’s so small and he scared her half to death. They were lighter strokes, or at least as light as one may be with the cane while still using it for its intended purpose,” Sherlock admitted. “He was careful enough, but she was only fourteen and he didn’t even try to understand what was really going on. And the things he said to her…” He shook his head, a sad look coming over her face.

_“Get out of my sight,” Mycroft ordered as he moved to return the cane to the closet of his study. When he turned around, Rose was still there, sobbing and looking for all the world as if he’d struck her across the face._

_“You are not the child I raised. My Rose is a good girl; mischievous but good. You, however, are a completely ungrateful, disobedient little monster.” The words spilled out his mouth without a second thought. “Do not look at me like that, as if those words are some sort of newsflash. You have been treading on thin ice for quite some time Rose and I have had it. I’m done with it, utterly finished. Whatever your problem is you better sort it out and quickly, because believe me when I say that I will not tolerate any further nonsense from you. I am completely and utterly done with you and your nonsense. I am so disgusted by you and your behavior that I can hardly bear to even look at you,” Mycroft thundered._

_“You have completely destroyed the trust I have in you and you will never be able to earn that back! I won’t ever be able to trust you or anything you say again! Save your tears because they will not sway me even one bit,” he went on. “Don’t even begin to look to me for comfort because you deserved every bit of that and I have absolutely no desire to make you feel better. Disobedient little monsters don’t deserve comforting. In fact, I don’t even want to hear you or see you. Go upstairs at once and get out of my sight, you wretched little brat! NOW!”_

Rose had done as he asked, his vicious diatribe having forced her into silence, making her swallow her sobs. She fled his presence with a look of utter devastation on her ashen face and he had let her go. Worse yet, he had seen it and hadn’t cared.

\------------------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock and John were just starting their second cups of tea by the time Mycroft emerged from his study and found them in the kitchen. He silently began making a cup of Darjeeling for himself, joining them at the table when it was finished.

“Gentlemen, we need a new plan,” Mycroft said quietly. “I am open to suggestions.”

By the time Mycroft had finished his second cup of tea, the three men had come to a consensus on how to handle Rose’s poor choices and overall lack of concern for her own welfare. It was not the course Sherlock would have preferred, given his own feelings that Rose has suffered enough during her confinement, but it was a fair and balanced approach just the same. After all, even he had to admit that Rose’s choices were begging to be addressed.

As Sherlock and John got up to leave, Mycroft put a hand on his brother’s arm and squeezed rather firmly. Raising an eyebrow, Sherlock turned his full attention to his brother, letting John go out ahead of him.

“Thank you for advising caution,” Mycroft said very quietly. “For once you were actually right. I wish I had handled that night, all of that acting out, so much differently. I hope you know that. More importantly, I hope Rose knows that as well.”

“You could always tell her, you know. Make sure she knows. She loves you Mycroft and she’d forgive you almost anything. The fact that she’s here and even speaks to you at all is proof that she understands, in her own way, that you regret what happened between the two of you,” Sherlock responded. It was very odd to be offering comfort of all things to his big brother!

“But you could tell her,” he continued. “Say the words so she knows for sure, and so you both can let it go. Text her, suggest she spend the night Saturday,” Sherlock suggested. “You know how she is after a spanking, always so sleepy. Ask her to stay the night, have a bit of time with her, and talk. Really talk. She loves that heart-to-heart nonsense.”

Mycroft chuckled. “So did Mother. That… is a good idea Sherlock. I’ll think on it.” With a curt nod, Mycroft headed back to his office, clearly dismissing his younger brother.

\----------------------------------------------------------------

The days before her ‘release’ date ticked by slowly but Friday did in fact come and found Rose sitting on an exam table in John’s office at surgery. Swinging her legs back and forth, she waited semi-patiently for him to return. John had insisted on an x-ray before he’d officially release her from having to rest.

Finally, just when it seemed as if he might never come back, the door opened and a grinning John entered. “Good news love. Everything looks to have healed up nicely and you may resume normal activity. Go lightly with the dancing and be careful, but you can dance again.”

With a squeal of delight Rose got down from the table and threw her arms around John. “Oh my god, I’m so relieved you don’t even know!”

With a laugh, John kissed her cheek. “Dressed warmly enough for a walk about town? I’m taking you out on a special date but it’s going to involve some going in and out of doors and walking. I don’t want you getting a cold after all your hard work resting.”

Dressed in a gray, long-sleeved sweater dress with a thin, bright purple belt at her waist and black leggings and her favorite pair of shoes- flats with an adorable bird on them that John had given her, Rose was more than ready for a day of walking. “I’ve even got my jacket if I need it. Come on, let’s go, let’s go!”

Kissing her once more, John gave a curt nod. “Then go we shall. Grab your jacket and I’ll drop off the paperwork with the secretary on our way out.”

“Where are we going?” Rose asked as they exited the building. “The cinema? A fancy late lunch?”

“You’ll see,” John replied with a smirk. “I’m pretty sure you’ll love it, but I’m not telling you.”

Despite all the begging, pleading and adorable looks Rose could muster, John refused to reveal anything about the surprise. A brisk fifteen minute walk brought them to their destination.

“Chocolate Ecstasy Tours,” Rose read. “What is that? Are we doing that? It sounds delicious!”

John laughed. “We are indeed doing that. We need to get in there so I can purchase our tickets. Try not to devour the window display before the tour even gets going, hm?” He chuckled when she stuck her tongue out at him in response.

As they waited in line, Rose plucked a brochure from a rack and began to read it aloud. “Chocolates of the World Tour: visit a selection of London’s best chocolate shops and sample familiar favorites and exotic chocolates from around the globe.” While examining the photos of yummy looking treats, Rose’s eyes caught sight of the price.

“John,” she whispered, tugging briefly on his jacket. “This costs thirty pounds a ticket! I can pay for myself,” Rose offered.

John scowled at her for a moment. “Exactly what sort of men have you been dating Rosenwyn Holmes? A gentleman always pays for his lady; always.” His scowl turned into a smile when she blushed.

She looked into his eyes, searching for something and smiling when she appeared to find whatever she’d been looking for. “I’m your lady am I?”

“You are,” John confirmed, kissing the tip of her nose. “Do you object?”

“No. I’m sort of in awe though. This might be the first time anyone has referred to me as a lady in a way that isn’t that ‘young lady’ disgruntled tone Mycroft favors,” Rose admitted.

Laughing, John pulled her close and kissed her once, softly. “I’m glad you don’t object,” he said quietly. “I rather like the idea of calling you my lady.”

“Does this mean I can call you my knight?” Rose grinned brightly when John gave her a brief nod and reassuring smile. He kissed her once more before turning to step forward in the line and pay for their tickets.

In short order they were one of ten couples on the tour and quickly introduced themselves to the others and had been served hot chocolates just before their tour guide arrived.

“Good afternoon everyone! Thank you so much for joining us. I’m Jessica and I’m going to start off with a rundown of our tour today as I pass out some bottles of water. Trust me, you’ll need them,” she said with a laugh. After filling them in on their destinations, the discounts that would be available at each shop they visited, Jessica gave them what she called the most important rules.

“There’s an art to judging chocolate and I’m challenging each of you to do it. The rules of proper tasting are: look, listen, smell, then taste. Look at the chocolate, it should be shiny, smooth and evenly colored. Then listen to the chocolate when you break it, listening for the crisp snap it makes. Next you must smell your chocolate and let your nose make you aware of the delicate notes of the treat, be it curry, honey, or any other ingredient. Lastly, you taste! But don’t bite it and eat it all down. Rather, let it melt in your mouth. Now, if there’s not any questions, we’ll get started!”

For the next three hours, John, Rose and the other couples followed Jessica’s lead to ten different chocolate shops right in London that boasted exotic ingredients from around the world. They tasted a 100% bar of chocolate, were surprised and delighted by marmite truffles and enjoyed raspberry chocolate macaroons, cappuccino truffles, curry chocolate bars and more.

By the time the tour ended, John and Rose had placed several orders for their particular favorites and purchased a number of chocolate bars they thought Sherlock might enjoy. Rose easily pocketed their goodies in her large purse. The tour ended with a complimentary chocolate drink of their choice and both shunned alcohol for peppermint hot cocoa.

 “That was insanely fun,” Rose decided as they left the final stop on the tour. “Even if I’ve gained weight that will take hours and hours to dance off! It was a perfect idea John.”

Wrapping an arm around her waist, John gave her a smile as he pulled her close. “I’m glad. I was trying to think of something special that was a bit of a splurge and out of the ordinary. This ticked all the boxes and was something I knew without a doubt that you’d enjoy.”

“It seems too early to go back home,” Rose commented as they headed towards the nearest tube station. It was dusk and the sun would be setting shortly, leaving an entire evening ahead of them. Suddenly, an irresistible idea came to her and a bright smile bloomed across her face. “Have you ever been on Albert Bridge at night?”

John shook his head. “Not that I can recall at any rate, though I probably have been and not paid any attention. Been over it in the daytime several times; actually more like countless times during army training for marching practice. Why?”

“We have to go then! It’s so beautiful when it’s lit up at night. Trust me,” she added when he shot her a dubious look. “I know that a bridge sounds anything but beautiful or romantic, but it really is and we’re only a few blocks away or so. If we hurry, we can be there when they light it up. Please?”

“As if I could deny you anything,” John teased. He pressed a kiss to her cheek and said, “Lead on, love.”

Taking his hand rather than letting him hold her about the waist so they could walk quicker, led the way to Albert Bridge and gave a mini history lesson as they went. “It’s incredibly unique, you know. It encompasses three different styles, the original and two add-ons later that were used to stabilize it. Albert Bridge has never been replaced, just stabilized, which is distinctive. Only one other bridge over the Thames can boast that you know...”

Smiling and nodding, John listened to her speak, the words flowing quickly and easily, making him wonder just where and when she’d learned all this history and how she could possibly recite it so well on a minute’s notice!

“What?” Rose asked, stopping amid regaling him with another historical tidbit. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because I think you’re amazing,” John stated very firmly. “I never have a clue what all you’ve got in that head of yours and I love learning what’s in there. I love watching you tell things like this, because you’re so animated, full of smiles and excitement as if it was the be all and end all of information.” He chuckled as she began to blush prettily.

“Well… thank you,” Rose commented quietly. “Now hurry it up or we’ll be late. There’s four thousand light bulbs that get turned on all at once and we’re going to miss it if we don’t hurry!”

Holding tightly to his hand, the pair ran the rest of the way to the bridge. Just as they arrived, it was as if someone threw a gigantic switch and the entire bridge burst into light. The multitude of bulbs shone off the eccentric pastel colors of the bridge, creating a rather breathtaking sight.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Rose asked, her voice low and reverent.

John nodded in agreement, but found Rose more beautiful than the bridge by far. When she caught him gazing longingly at her, Rose laughed and gently pushed him. He immediately responded by pulling her close. “Walk along the bridge with me?”

Taking the arm he offered, they began to walk in silence along the bridge. “Dance with me.”

John frowned and turned to look at her. “Sorry?”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Dance with me, John. Let’s dance, right here and now. I don’t think I can wait even another second.”

“We haven’t got any music and I’m not a good enough dancer to go without,” John admitted. He hated to disappoint her, but as her hand disappeared inside her purse and came out with a mobile he realized he wouldn’t have to after all.

“I’ve got you covered,” she assured him. It took a moment of scrolling through the songs on her mobile to find just the right one. Pressing play, she tucked it inside the front pocket of his shirt and grinned brightly. “Dance with me, please.”

John swept her into his arms and, forgetting the potential for any audience or the fact that they were on a bridge, they began to dance to the strains of Meghan Trainor’s ‘What If I.’

_What if I want to kiss you tomorrow? Something tells me you’re not like the other boys. Oh no babe, oh no babe, mmm. ‘Course I like you, can’t you hear it in my voice? Oh yeah babe, oh yeah babe, mmm. Well don’t be nervous, I’m so in to you, yes I am babe. And is this somethin’ or am I just a fool? What if I wanna kiss you tomorrow?…_

Rose hummed along to the tune as they twirled in each other’s arms, her head resting against his shoulder. John could smell the soft scent of lavender in her hair and it felt for a moment like they were lost and the world had disappeared. At least until he heard:

_The snow glows white on the mountain tonight, not a footprint to be seen. A kingdom of isolation and it looks like I’m the queen…_

John pulled away from Rose and quirked an eyebrow at her. “Seriously? ‘Let it Go’? Seriously?”

She promptly scowled at him. “I happen to like _Frozen_ thank you very much! And it’s a very catchy tune, I couldn’t quite control myself when I found it on itunes. I could sing it to you!”

Laughing, he shook his head. “No, that’s alright. What’s next on your playlist? Should I be frightened?”

“Possibly.” Rose wiggled her eyebrows at him and skipped to the next track.

_Prince Royce… Big Snoop Dog. She got me stuck on a feelin’, she got me stuck on a feelin’. I like you talking dirty, I like your—_

“Wait, is this even your mobile?” John asked. Reaching for his pocket, he pulled out the mobile. It was in the familiar pink polka dot case it always was but this song! “I don’t even understand. Snoop? Seriously? Miss ‘I Heart Dean Martin and prefer to choreograph songs with music from the appropriate period’ has Snoop Dog among her music collection?”

Her face a bright red, Rose scowled and grabbed for the mobile. “I’m allowed to have varied tastes in music if I so chose, thank you very much!”

“Snoop though? _Snoop_?”

She flashed him a mischievous grin. “Admittedly my relationship with Snoop started when I was trying to annoy the hell out of Mycroft. It worked beautifully.”

Throwing his head back, John let out a hearty laugh at the very through of how Mycroft would react to hearing anything by that less-than-illustrious, so-called musician.

“Alright, alright, enough laughing,” Rose grumbled. “This one’s better. You’ll like it I think, though it’s also probably an unexpected choice.”

A distinctive country twang started the next selection and John immediately recognized it, even before a word of the lyrics had left George Strait’s mouth. He swept Rose into his arms again and started to waltz with her, completely oblivious to the few gawkers that had stopped to watch them.

_I don’t my whiskey to extremes. Don’t believe in chasing crazy dreams. My feet are planted firmly on the ground. But darlin’ when you come around- I get carried away by the look, by the light in your eyes. Before I even realized the ride I’m on, baby I’m long gone. I get carried away, nothin’ matters but bein’ with you—_

“Kiss me,” Rose whispered, her cheek against his. When he didn’t immediately respond, she repeated her request in Spanish with a much firmer tone. “Bésame John. Kiss me, bésame!” This time the message got through and John’s mouth covered hers hungrily, his arms moving around her midriff. Within seconds they were against the rail of the bridge, spectators be damned as they competed to see who could devour who first. 

 _I get carried away, nothing’ matters but bein’ with you. Like a feather flyin’ high up in the sky on a windy day, I get carried away._  George Strait ended and another song began to play but neither of them paid the least bit attention to anything but the task at hand. Rose’s soft curves melted into the contours of John’s body as one of his hands moved to cradle her head. The kiss finally broke and as Rose caught her breath, John began pressing feather-light kisses along her jawline and then down her neck, right to the pulse point at the base of it. Rose put her hands on either side of his face and moved his head towards her, kissing him hard and urgently. 

“Ahem! Excuse me? Ahem! Oi!” It wasn’t until the rather loud and annoyed ‘oi’ was uttered that either John or Rose took notice of the fact that someone was attempting to get their attention. Both their heads turned in the direction of the voice, only to find a police officer glaring at them. “Time to move along you two. This is a public bridge and it’s just past sunset this is really…” The man’s voice trailed off and his eyes narrowed as they examined Rose’s face. “How old are you miss?”

Rose smiled and laughed. “Plenty old enough, I promise!” When the officer merely responded with a stern look, thing suddenly felt far less funny. “I’m twenty, and this is my boyfriend,” Rose explained. 

The officer’s eyebrow quirked. “Is he now? Are you now? I’d like to see some identification, please, from both of you, quick like.” With a sigh John took out his wallet and removed his ID, handing it to the officer. He expected Rose to do the same and looked in her direction when he didn’t, only to discover her digging around a bit frantically in her bag. “Rose?” he asked. “Just pick one and show him.” 

“I don’t have one to pick,” Rose hissed. “All I have is my studio ID card!” “Miss? I’m waiting for yours,” the officer prodded her. “Look, I am twenty and I even work for the Met, you can call and check. My name’s Rose Holmes. All I have on me though is my ID card for the dance studio I also work at,” Rose admitted, handing the card over. 

“No date of birth on here. You’re awfully young looking miss, I’d say about fifteen. That makes me really uncomfortable with what was going on here. If you can’t prove your age, I’m afraid I’ll have to take you both to the Met,” the officer told them sternly. 

“What for? That’s ridiculous!” Rose protested. “You so I can call your guardian to come collect you, him--” he paused to indicate John. “He’ll be placed under arrest for indecent behavior with a minor.” 

“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Call DI Greg Lestrade, he’ll tell you to let us both go. We both work with him and for him. I don’t have anything else, any other ID on me, but he’ll vouch for us I promise you. In fact, I can call him right now.” Rose reached for her mobile in John’s pocket, intending to call Greg. 

“A very likely story miss. I understand you probably find it flattering that this older gentleman is showing interest in you,” the officer began. 

“Older gentleman? _Older_ gentleman?” John repeated, his tone full of resentment and rising with each word. 

“That’s enough out of you sir,” the officer promptly responded. “This isn’t seemly miss, and it’s not legal either. Both of you are coming with me. Sir, you can come quietly or I can put you in cuffs. The choice is yours.” 

“Oh for heaven’s sake, this is ridiculous!” John shouted indignantly. “She’s of age, we can call any number of people who work at the Met to verify that. You can call and verify she works there and there’s certainly no minors working as an assistant to a homicide DI,” he pointed out. 

“You can call them all when we get there then,” the officer said. “And as you’re getting rather hostile, I think it’ll be the cuffs after all sir.” 

As the officer handcuffed John, amid loud protests, Rose looked up at the sky and stomped her foot. “How is this my life?” she questioned the stars. Of all the bad luck in the world, could she not just have one minute of uninterrupted bliss with her boyfriend? Or was her life doomed to be this sort of madness? 

“This ought to be a fun story come Monday,” John grumbled. “You know they’ll ask. They’ll see my name and ask.” 

Rose sighed a she fell in step with John and the officer. “They’ll definitely ask, not a doubt about it.” 

Shaking his head, the ex-army doctor then stole a look at Rose. “What’re you going to tell them?” 

“The truth! George Strait got us arrested,” Rose answered without missing a beat. She then promptly burst into giggles which were joined in short order by John’s answering laughter. 

“You know what this means, don’t you?” John asked. When Rose shook her head, he gave her a devilish grin. “That’s our song now.” They both burst out laughing again, utterly unable to keep from dissolving into a mutual fit of giggles, much to the officer’s bewilderment. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Thirty minutes later, across London, Mycroft was just sitting down in front of his fireplace with a snifter of brandy and a good book, ready to enjoy some rare quiet time to himself. Just as he cracked the cover, however, his mobile began vibrating on the end table. With a sigh, he closed the book and reached for it, surprised to see Rose’s name on the screen. She rarely called, except when… _Oh, god_.

“Rose? What’s going on?” Mycroft asked, his voice full of concern.

“Hi. Um… I sort of find myself in need of your assistance,” Rose explained somewhat hesitantly.

Mycroft let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was bound to be a vexing conversation. Could she never ring him just to say ‘hello, how are you?’ Attempting to keep the growing annoyance from his tone, Mycroft asked, “Have you been arrested, Rosenwyn?”

Rose rolled her eyes and let out a huff. “No! But John has. We’re at the Met and I need your help to get John out of jail.”

“Why has your boyfriend been arrested?” Mycroft asked, his tone growing steely.

There was a long pause before Rose responded to the question. “Do I have to answer that?”

“If you wish for my intervention, yes, young lady, you do,” Mycroft said sternly.

“John and I were on Albert Bridge and a police officer thought John was… well… um…” Rose was cringing as she attempted to choose her words very, very carefully. This did not go unmissed by her big brother.

“Rose, spit it out already before I become incredibly annoyed with you,” Mycroft ordered. “Or rather, more annoyed with you than I already feel myself becoming.”

“The officer thought John was molesting me, more or less, and I haven’t got an ID to prove I’m of age. So John was arrested and I need you to get something that proves my age. Sherlock has all my passports, Greg took my fake license, and my ID for the Met is at home,” Rose explained quickly. The words tumbled out with little time to think about how best to explain the situation.

“You were being _intimate_ in _public_?! Rosenwyn Aramantha Holmes, have you no decorum at all? You are a _young lady_! That is incredibly inappropriate!” Mycroft thundered. “What were you thinking of? It’s downright indecent and I am not going to stand for that sort of nonsense from you!”

“We weren’t being intimate My! We were _kissing_! It’s not like we were having… doing… It was just kissing, alright? Please My, come down here with whatever documents we need to prove I’m adult so John can be released. _Please_. It’s not his fault I’m short and look very young,” Rose pleaded. She tried rather desperately to pretend that she was alone, with no officers or recently arrested persons around her to hear her end of a difficult and embarrassing conversation. The fact that she could hear snickers behind her back was evidence that those efforts had failed miserably.

The desperation of her plea and the utter embarrassment of the situation were palpable and despite his best efforts, the sound of it tugged hard on Mycroft’s heart strings. “You _are_ very young,” he responded in a weary tone. “I suppose you wouldn’t forgive me if I left him there to rot for a few hours or so?”

“No, of course I wouldn’t!” Rose exclaimed. “Please My, don’t be a bear! I need you. Do this for me, please.”

Mycroft let out a sigh as he checked his watch. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. And don’t think I missed the detail about your fake license. However, we will discuss that, and the reason why you have no proper identification, another time.” He promptly ended the call, but did not miss the start of a loud groan from his baby sister before doing so.

Rose let out a loud groan as she slumped down in her seat to wait for Mycroft to come to the rescue yet again. How utterly humiliating to not only be mistaken for a minor but to be forced to call Mycroft of all people and ask for assistance? She’d never live this down.

Eighteen minutes later, Mycroft arrived at the Met and walked with determination in his step towards the holding cells. He stopped at the one which held John and cocked an eyebrow at the man. “This is not an illustrious way to start your relationship, I must say.”

John’s face grew red but he leveled a look at Mycroft not unlike those he had given men under his command in the army. It was a look that blatantly stated that the person receiving that look was on thin ice, metaphorically speaking.

For a long moment the two men just stared at one another, each hoping to force the other man to avert his gaze. When it became clear that that would not happen, Mycroft let out a long-suffering sigh. “I ought to leave you in here for a few hours to reflect on public decency, but I’ve been informed by Rose that that would be unforgiveable of me. If you could see your way to not…” He paused, searching for the right word. “To not behaving inappropriately with my sister in public, it would be appreciated.” Turning on his heel, Mycroft walked away before John could even respond.

After furnishing a birth certificate with the name that matched Rose’s ID for her dance studio, the arresting officer had no choice but to release John and drop the charges. That and he had a feeling any objection he may bring up would be somehow overruled by the man dressed in a suit that cost as much as he made in a single month, if not more! The officer quickly disappeared down the hallway to release John from the holding cell.

“You may as well go to your--” Again, the eldest Holmes paused to find the right word to describe what John was to Rose without offending his own sensibilities. “Go to your person. Try to make it back to Baker Street in one piece.” Mycroft reached out to cup Rose’s cheek in his hand, the closest he would come to a public display of affection inside the Met, poppet or no poppet. “I’ll see you tomorrow at 2pm. We have much to discuss. I suggest you bring an overnight bag.”

Rose watched her brother breeze past her, eyes wide. Bring an overnight bag? What exactly were they going to do to her tomorrow?! Before her mind could begin dissecting the possibilities, Rose spotted John out of the corner of her eye and immediately ran in his direction.

“I’m fine love, I’m just fine,” John chuckled at suddenly finding his arms full of Rose. “It was a misunderstanding, as we’d said all along.” Having her in his arms, however, made it impossible for him not to give into the temptation to kiss her soundly. The strong hardness of his laps captured her’s as Rose melted against him. Mindful of where they were however, he managed to stop within an appropriate length of time, though it was clearly too soon if the little noise of protest Rose made was any indication.

“Come on my darling girl,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Let’s go home.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

The following afternoon a sleek black car was waiting outside 221B, intending to whisk the occupants across London to the Holmes townhouse. Inside the building, Rose looked as if she was waiting to be escorted to the Tower of London for a prompt beheading rather than facing a severe scolding and well-earned spanking.

Unable to keep from feeling a little bit sorry for her- after all, who could resist her sorrowful face?- John pressed a thermos of coffee into her hands before wrapping his arms around her. He smiled softly when she leaned into his embrace. “You’re going to be just fine,” he murmured in her ear. “We all love you, you know.”

“I know,” Rose admitted in a rather wistful tone.

“What’s the bag for?” John asked, indicating the bag at her feet. It was, of course, pink and polka-dotted, which made him smile.

“Mycroft said to pack an overnight bag, so I did,” she explained. “That really makes me nervous! What’s he going to do that I need an overnight bag for?”

“Your bag has virtually nothing to do with your pending spanking, aside from the fact that you fall asleep directly afterwards,” Sherlock commented. He reached for his coat hanging near the door and slipped it on. “Mycroft misses you, though he doesn’t directly state it like that. I suggested he have you stay the night. Leave it to Mycroft to leave that bit out and just sound ominous instead.” The consulting detective rolled his eyes and moved past them to open the door, expecting his sister and flatmate to fall in step behind him.

Sliding into the car, Rose buckled her seatbelt and waited for John to do the same before cozying up to his side. John wrapped an arm around her and kissed the top of her head. Retrieving his mobile from his jacket pocket, he entered the password and scrolled through his contacts. After finding the one he was after, John clicked on it and showed it to Rose. There was her mobile number, with her name showing as ‘Milady.’

Immediately Rose began to grin and John felt the thrill of success. An identical grin soon spread across his face as well, when Rose pulled up his mobile number with the contact name showing as ‘My Knight.’ The two of them tried to stifle their laughter, but that proved to be impossible.

“You two are utterly ridiculous,” Sherlock complained, adding a dramatic eye roll and huff to his words. “We’re supposed to be scolding her in a few moments John, so perhaps if you could manage to stop all that romantic nonsense it would be for the better.”

Within seconds, Rose’s face bloomed as red as the flower with which she shared her name. To be reminded that in just a short time she would be facing not only her brothers, but her boyfriend, for a good scolding was rather humiliating. She stayed silent for the remainder of the ride and was the first to exit the car upon its arrival at the Holmes townhouse.

“You’ve made it on time I see,” Mycroft commented as he greeted them at the door. “Rosenwyn, please take your bag up to your room and then come to my study immediately afterwards.” He knew from past experience that adding the _immediately_ could head off any ideas of delaying the inevitable. As he watched her disappear up the stairs, Mycroft gestured for Sherlock and John to follow him into the study.

As per usual, Mycroft sat in the chair behind his desk, leaving plenty of room for the other two men to stand alongside him as this was, after all, a team effort of sorts. Now, they merely had to await Rose’s arrival and, luckily for her, it wasn’t a long wait. Her appearance garnered an eye roll from Mycroft: a light pink dress liberally sprinkled with black hearts, accompanied by a hot pink cardigan and some sort of ridiculous beige shoes. Wedges, he believed they were called. His sister’s particularly unique fashion choices quite often left Mycroft mystified, though even he had to admit today’s outfit was somewhat low-key in comparison to others.

Extending his hand in the direction of the lone seat placed in front of the desk, the eldest Holmes waited for Rose to take a seat before beginning the round of lecturing. “Let’s begin with why we are all here and why you find yourself on that side of my desk; _again_.”

“I’m an idiot and you all feel compelled to point that out to me,” Rose responded, settling back in the seat with a huff.

“Elaborate on why you have classified yourself as an idiot, and do it respectfully, if you please,” Mycroft added, raising both eyebrows to give her a significant look.

“And if I don’t please?” Rose and Sherlock suddenly responded in unison. It made the littlest Holmes giggle while the eldest let out a frustrated sigh.

“Sherlock, I’m not in the mood for games. Please do not encourage our sister, unless you have a burning desire to stand with her on the other side of my desk.” The caution of Mycroft’s tone was heavily tinged with the warning that, if pushed, he may not deem Sherlock too old for a stern discussion of his own! He smirked when Sherlock’s laughter immediately ceased.

“You’re all quite angry with me because I broke my ribs and didn’t tell anyone. My defense is largely idiotic, one you won’t like at all, which is that I did not know. I truly didn’t realize that broken ribs could puncture a lung,” Rose began. As she spoke, her gaze fell from the three stern faces before her to the well shined wood of Mycroft’s desktop.

“If I buy that, and let’s say I do,” John responded. “That’s hardly an adequate excuse for not seeking medical treatment immediately upon injury.”

Mycroft easily picked up where the doctor left off. “Which is a rather appalling habit I’d quite hoped you’d outgrown by this point. Apparently, I was wrong. You still seem to be confused about the fact that safety is non-negotiable and always will be non-negotiable.”

“I didn’t think it was that dangerous though! Dancers get hurt all the time,” Rose pointed out. “I’ve had loads of injuries over the years and danced through most of them. Sprained ankles, broken wrist, dislocated elbows and shoulders, more bruises than I could even begin to count. It happens. Had I thought it was something dangerous, I would have got help.”

“That’s a little difficult to believe, considering you were up and about with broken ribs for two days, Rose,” Sherlock added. “I would personally have been willing to let this whole matter go without making a single comment had you immediately told John or gone to a doctor after your competition. Two days--”

“Is a bloody long time, during which any small movement you made might have punctured your lung,” John finished. “That’s the part that’s unacceptable to me Rose. That even after you had completed your competition you still chose to hide injuries, even though we’ve talked about that before, you and I. And don’t even get me started on the over medicating that I just happened to overhear--”

Mycroft blithely interrupted John to pick up on that train of thought. “Which is _very_ worrisome Rosenwyn. It’s irresponsible in the extreme and completely unnecessary when you have a physician living next door to you. Whether or not you believed you were in danger, you were in a significant amount of pain to be dosing yourself at such an unsafe level--”

“And that should have been an indicator that something was wrong and get treatment before your ribs broke. Not to mention I told you several times that the choreography needed to be changed,” Sherlock continued.

“Look, I know good choreography, it was do-able, it just needing working! Don’t tell me how to do what I do best,” Rose directed, her tone growing increasingly defensive. “All of you need to stop acting like I was purposely trying to break my ribs or kill myself.”

“Only by sheer dumb _luck_ did you not kill yourself!” John shouted. “You are not indestructible, Rose and we care very, very much about keeping you living _and_ dancing for a long time to come.”

“Drowning your pain in ibuprofen cocktails is just dangerous,” Sherlock added.

“Says the man who drugs people for fun,” Rose retorted rather hotly. She crossed her arms over her chest and let out a huff before directing her gaze across the room. How she hated to be scolded like some silly child! And how did they not understand that she didn’t know?

“You did know,” Sherlock answered her unspoken question. “Ribs aside, you know that that much over the counter medication is nowhere near appropriate for someone your size.”

“And Sherlock’s choices are not in question here, largely because I really could not care less if he blew himself to bits or managed to poison someone so long I didn’t have to be bothered by it. You, however, are another matter entirely,” Mycroft retorted. He blithely ignored Sherlock’s snort.

Rubbing a hand over his forehead, the eldest Holmes took a deep breath before continuing. “I would sincerely appreciate it if you would stop breaking yourself with such alarming frequency Rosenwyn. I have spent more of my time making sure you’ve not maimed or otherwise injured yourself over the past twenty years than I have protecting western civilization! I would dearly love for you to stop damaging yourself so often. It makes me look incompetent… _and_ I worry.”

It was the tone of the words ‘and I worry’ that crumbled the defensive walls Rose had begun constructing around herself as they’d lectured. Mycroft sounded sincerely worried and it wasn’t often he would let such emotion creep into his tone, even around John. Or perhaps especially around John given that he was her boyfriend now. It was rarely her intention to outright worry those she loved.

A few long, silent moments passed as the stern looking men watched Rose process their words and decide how to respond. It was never hard to see such processes taking place as every thought and emotion flittered across her face, some more briefly than others. They waited, mostly patiently, for her to respond.

“I’m sorry,” Rose murmured. “I don’t mean to hurt myself, honestly I don’t. Sometimes it’s hard to tell what to be worried about and what not to be and dancers have to dance through the pain or we’d hardly ever dance at all.”

“Then let me decide what’s worrisome and what isn’t. Or another doctor if you’d prefer,” John offered. “But there’s got to be a point where you recognize you’re hurting and stop to check that you aren’t truly causing yourself injury. That’s all I’m after here, love.”

Mycroft grimaced at John affectionate use of ‘love’ to refer to Rose. He wasn’t certain he’d ever get used to the idea and having to assist John out of jail the past evening hadn’t helped matters.

Rose looked up from the surface of Mycroft’s desk and spoke to John directly. “Would we be able to negotiate things? To a certain extent?”

“We can work out the finer points of that sort of arrangement later,” John promised, pleased that she appeared willing to work with him on the matter. That was definite progress in his eyes!

“I’ll do better, I promise.” This time her gaze fell on Mycroft, her words a softly spoken plea for leniency.

The eldest Holmes searched her face for a moment, judging her sincerity, before slowly nodding his head. “Excellent; that is reassuring to hear. I hope, after your slate has been wiped clean that you will keep that promise,” he responded. “But there _is_ the matter of cleaning that slate that must be addressed. Though we would all each have a good reason to take you over our knees, it would be wholly unreasonable for all three of us to do so. That is quite lucky for Sherlock, who once again is a bleeding heart and unwilling to take you to task even when it is well and truly deserved.”

A tiny smile was sent in Sherlock’s direction and the two younger siblings shared a look of understanding before Rose turned her attention back to Mycroft.

“Since safety being a priority for you has long been an issue I’ve had to address with you, you will receive a spanking from me, today,” Mycroft explained. “In a few days or so, Dr. Watson will address the issue of medication misuse in a similar manner.” The way Rose seemed to deflate in front of his eyes at this pronouncement tugged hard on his heartstrings but sentiment, and a distinct dislike of being the one to make her cry, had to be pushed aside in order for a serious lesson to be imparted. “Is there anything further you’d like to say to any of us?”

Rose shook her head no, looking utterly miserable. “Then gentlemen, you may leave us. I’m certain she’ll reassure you both that she’s still alive later on, though I have nothing quite so drastic as murder in mind,” Mycroft commented, giving a small Mycroftian effort at adding levity to the situation.

After brief cuddles and whispers of reassurance, Sherlock and John left as Rose remained seat on the chair. “I would like you to go to your room Rose. I will be up shortly,” Mycroft instructed. “You may take this with you.” Leaning down to the most dreaded of drawers, he pulled it out and extracted the spanking spoon which was placed on the desk top.

A look of utter confusion crossed her face. “My room?” Rose repeated. She couldn’t even remember the last time Mycroft had administered a spanking in her bedroom! It was always done in his study.

“Your room,” he confirmed with a nod. “You may change into your night clothes if you wish, or remain in your day clothes, the choice is yours. Either way, your bottom will be bare when it goes across my knee,” Mycroft cautioned. “Now go upstairs please. I’d like you to place your nose in the corner as well.” He paused briefly then added, “But first come here to me.”

Already standing up to leave the office, Rose stopped when he asked her to come to him. A flicker of apprehension rushed through her; the brief flash of it in her eyes did not go unnoticed by Mycroft.

As she rounded the desk, Mycroft stood up and reached for Rose, pulling her close. He held her as tightly as he dared and simply held her for a moment before speaking. “You are so very loved poppet,” Mycroft whispered, the words for her ears alone. “Do not ever forget that.” Knowing that she may not have survived a second punctured lung, relief coursed through his veins at being able to hold her in his arms, whole and well. After a few moments, however, he ended the cuddle and reached for the spoon. “Upstairs now,” he directed. “Take this with you. I’ll be up shortly.”

“I’m sorry,” Rose whispered before biting her lip.

“I know poppet, I know.” Mycroft pressed a kiss to the top of her head before turning her around and providing a nudge in the direction of the doorway. Taking his hint, he watched Rose scurry out of his office and shortly thereafter heard the sound of her feet running up the stairs.


	10. Comes the Day of Reckoning Part II

Mycroft watched the clock in his office as ten minutes ticked slowly by. That seemed like a reasonable amount of time to make her wait, not too long or too short. It also gave him time to reflect on her behavior during the collaborative scolding that had been administered. In all honesty, he’d expected far more defiance and defensiveness than she’d exhibited, making him wonder if perhaps she was maturing or if he would merely find that waiting upstairs. After all, one could reason that it would be highly embarrassing to strop in front of one’s beau so why not wait until it was just the two of them to have a shouting match about it?

Shockingly enough, Mycroft even believed Rose when she said she didn’t realize the sort of damage broken ribs would cause and found that somewhat comforting. It was far more distasteful to believe Rose had some sort of invincibility complex or simply had no regard for her own life than it was to see things through her own eyes. Mycroft recalled each of the injuries she’d mentioned receiving over the years and had rushed from meetings to her hospital bed more times than he cared to admit. Twice he had walked out of conferences and immediately flown home for the more grievous injuries, though one of those had been a burst appendix and not an actual dance injury now that he thought about it. 

Regardless of the countless prior injuries, there was no denying that dancing was a sport, something he had realized early on, and anyone who considered it anything less than a sport was a fool. Few made it through a life in athletic pursuits without serious risk of injury, hence why there was no reason for Rose to up her chances of damaging herself with foolish choices.

Finally ten minutes slipped away, effectively removing Mycroft from his musings and propelling him upstairs. Knocking lightly on her bedroom door, he then entered and let out a soft sigh of relief to find her in the corner has he’d directed, dressed in her pajamas, which was a wise choice considering her propensity to sleep straight after. “You may come out now,” he said quietly while taking a seat on her bed.

Turning away from the corner, Rose looked at her eldest brother with anxious eyes. He wasn’t shouting, he wasn’t ordering, and they weren’t even in his study. She hardly even knew what to make of it all. When Mycroft waved her over towards him, she hesitated just slightly before sitting down on her bed, immediately beginning to trace the pattern of the comforter with one finger.

“I’m not going to murder you Rose, though I am admittedly still baffled as to your thought process throughout this whole thing,” Mycroft commented. “I understand that you didn’t realize how dangerous that particular injury could be and I’m not going to castigate you over it. I think you’ve come to understand things are not always the simple hurts one might believe them to be. Am I right?”

Rather than answer his question, Rose looked up at him, anxiety written all over her face. “Are you going to force me to stop dancing now?” Twenty though she may be, Rose was well aware that she still depended on Mycroft financially for certain things when the ends of her two paychecks didn’t quite meet. This was especially true after being unemployed for the past six weeks, eating food she hadn’t purchased for instance. In addition to that, Mycroft controlled her inheritance until she was older and Rose’s savings had been entirely depleted during her eighteen month sojourn around the continent.

“Am I going to—Is that what this has been about?” Mycroft asked incredulously. “Were you lying to all of us downstairs when you claimed not to realize the extent of your injuries?” Now his voice was hard and tinged with anger.

“No, I wasn’t lying, I promise,” Rose hurried to assure him. “I suppose on some level that concern factored into things, subconsciously. But I’ve been waiting and waiting these last six weeks for you to tell me it’s done, I’ve had my go at it, I’m an idiot and it’s time to find something else to do. Which, if that is your plan, I think we might be in for a rough patch because if I have learned anything during this whole resting time it’s that I cannot fully live without dancing.” Her voice cracked as she admitted this and Rose began furiously blinking back tears.

Mentally Mycroft cursed his brother for being right yet again, when he himself had been too frustrated and angry to listen. The frustration and depression Sherlock had spoken of was playing out in front of him this very moment as Rose fought her tears while being quite blunt about the fact that she wouldn’t listen if that was his plan. Luckily for her it wasn’t.

“Don’t get yourself worked up Rose, you’ll have plenty to cry about shortly,” Mycroft replied in a meaningful tone. “I have no intention of forcing you to quit dancing, ever, provided you’re still living. That is my goal, to keep you on this earth despite your best efforts to the contrary, even the unintentional ones. I’ve accustomed myself to idea that you are a dancer, that is what you are meant to be and you won’t let me stand in your way if I disapprove. 

“Being a parent, or guardian, or concerned older brother, or whatever other label you would like to affix to us, is often about picking battles,” he continued. “I have decided that this isn’t a battle I need to have with you, not if we wish to remain as we are presently. We have come full circle to the sort of relationship we used to have and I am trying to make sure we stay that way. Just be forewarned, I may not always be successful at it, but I shall try to be.” 

Mycroft could see the relief that flooded her eyes just seconds before Rose threw her arms around him, almost strangling him in her efforts to hold on tightly. Immediately Sherlock came to his mind again unbidden, however this time when he thought of his brother, Mycroft mentally thanked Sherlock for counseling- or insisting rather- patience with their sister. “Besides, there are far worse things you could be than a ballroom dancer,” Mycroft added, wrapping his arms around her in return.

Rose pulled back from him slightly, her bright eyes round and wide. “There are?” What a reversal of his feelings from just a few years ago! “Are you really my brother? Have you been cloned? I think I need to call Anthea and have a state of emergency declared. Possibly have a search party started, too, because this makes no sense at all.”

The eldest Holmes nodded, looking quite grave and serious. “I am in fact your brother and I forbid you from bothering Anthea over such silliness. And certainly there are far worse things!” A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “For example, you could be an American.” 

Her jaw dropped open. Was he making a joke? Was Mycroft Holmes making a joke?! At a time like this? “Mycroft, oh my god!” Rose exclaimed before bursting into a fit of giggles. “That is really, really terrible!”

“Also quite truthful. The North Koreans and the Americans give me the most trouble of anyone else,” Mycroft commented. “And you were the one that asked for an example, were you not? I can offer a few others if you--”

“No, no, no,” Rose interjected, shaking her head. “Lord only knows what your other examples might be: a belly dancer or something and those types of answers are all places that you and I do not need to share mental imagery of, alright? Though admittedly it’s been nice to have a bit of a laugh.” Sobering a bit, she reached for his hand and squeezed it once, tightly. “Thank you for everything, My. For supporting me and picking your battles wisely,” her eyes twinkled with mischief at that one. “And for wanting to stay close as much as I do. I don’t ever want to go back to the place we were in before when I felt so… alone.”

Taking advantage of the fact that Rose was still on his lap after her attempt to half-strangle him, Mycroft wrapped his arms around her and held on tightly. He wanted to say something meaningful that would soothe the hurts from the not so distant past, yet he could think of nothing. No simple statement could erase his harsh words, the multitude of fights, and the times he felt overwhelmed and had simply lost patience with her because she needed constantly. Sherlock’s absence had created a far greater gap in the household than he’d anticipated. 

“I never meant for you to feel that way,” Mycroft stated quietly. “Even when I was responsible for it, it was never my true intention to make you feel alone or unloved. You have always been loved, even if I’ve been rubbish at showing it sometimes.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and waited to see if Rose felt like sharing more. This hadn’t exactly been the order in which he’d anticipated this topic coming up during her overnight stay, but Mycroft had no desire to steer clear of the conversation just because it emerged now rather than later. But, surprisingly enough, Rose was silent except for a murmured, “I love you too, My.” Typically so open with her feelings, Mycroft could always sense a hesitation whenever the topic of her troubled teens emerged. It was unlike her to be guarded and Mycroft disliked the idea that there may be some serious issue going unaddressed or that her jaunt around the continent had been more difficult than she portrayed it.

Rose was guarded on the topic, very consciously, though not for her own benefit. She kept to herself all the dark times during her travels and the feelings that had driven her from her home in hopes of resetting things in order to protect him. Given the efforts Mycroft had made to repair things, Rose couldn’t bring herself to lay it all out before him and risk hurting him deeply. Mycroft may seem impervious to anything other than cold calculating reason to the rest of the world, but Rose knew differently. 

When it became clear that Rose had shared all that she would for the present time, Mycroft chose to press on and address the issue at hand. “While you seem quite cozy as you are, we do have business that we must move on to,” he firmly reminded her. “I believe you know why you find yourself here, if the conversation downstairs was any indication. Am I correct?” When Rose nodded and shifted her eyes downward to look at the comforter, he continued on. “Then before I take the spanking spoon to your bottom, I’d like to hear what you’ve learned, Rosenwyn.”

“That I’m very clearly not a doctor, nor am I very good at self-diagnosis,” Rose began. “But mostly… mostly how important my body is. Not that I was on the level of Sherlock and his transport theory, and not that either of you always take the best care of yourselves, but…” She paused, frowning a bit as she tried to organize her thoughts. “This is going to sound monumentally stupid, but I never really made the connection between today and the long term before this. And if I’m being honest, I didn’t even make that connection on my own. John pointed out that if I didn’t do what I needed to do now and let my body heal properly, I could develop issues that would affect me and my career for the rest of my life.”

Silently Mycroft placed a point in John’s favor in his mind palace. Thus far, the man only had three points in his favor and would need to accrue a great deal more to ever earn Mycroft’s full approval.

“Dancing means everything and I want to do it every day until I die. Whether I’m competing, performing, or teaching, I want the ability to do it my whole life.” Rose lifted her eyes from the comforter to look at Mycroft properly. “This was so hard, trying to be good and do exactly what I needed to so that I would heal properly. It might be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, resting and having virtually no purpose to my life for six weeks. I don’t ever want to go through that again and I’m going to try much, much harder to keep from hurting myself- severely hurting myself. There will always be bumps and bruises,” she admitted.

“Yes, there will always be bumps and bruises, but you will take care with them and be cognizant of your body’s needs, correct?” Mycroft wasn’t surprised when Rose nodded enthusiastically. “I must say I am… impressed. This is a moment of true maturity and I’m proud of you for recognizing that the long term effects of short term injuries, whether from dancing or something else, can be greater than one anticipates. Though I suspect your choreography will be no less daring than prior to your broken ribs--”

“We’ll practice with mats for the hard things until we get it right,” Rose interrupted. “Even if it’s annoying.” 

“Good girl. And what are the remaining issues that need to be addressed?” Mycroft prompted.

“Lack of forethought, which at times I wonder if that’s ever going to change. But also remembering that it’s okay to lean on people and I should do so more often. Sometimes others know better than I do; but only sometimes mind you,” she cautioned, giving him a small smile. The little quirk of his lips at that statement did not go unnoticed. 

Mycroft nodded his agreement. “Precisely so. Additionally, you need to answer for the poor choices you made and had been making for weeks, which brings us to why I and the spanking spoon find ourselves here.”

“Why are we here?” Rose asked, crinkling her nose as she tried to discern the answer. “It’s always your study, or at least ninety-eight percent of the time it is. I don’t… I don’t suppose I could talk you out of this, could I? No dancing and untenable boredom for six weeks, lesson learned?”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at her and simply said, “No.” The tone, and the eyebrow, made it clear he was not going to listen to pleas for leniency. “Can you honestly tell me that you don’t deserve to be soundly spanked, Rose? I think this time even you know that you have more than earned it. Thank your lucky stars that Sherlock made a persuasive argument against sterner measures than the spoon and that you still have Dr. Watson to answer to. If you still lived here at home, you’d be over my knee at bedtime for a week.”

Rose’s face went red, a silent acknowledgement that Mycroft was correct. She knew she’d earned it, even if she didn’t like it. 

“Well if you liked it that would rather defeat the purpose, wouldn’t you agree?” Mycroft asked, raised eyebrow and all.

“I hate it when you know what I’m thinking,” she retorted with a scowl. “But back to the original question. Why are we here?”

“Considering you are just recently released from resting your broken ribs, I thought it might be counterproductive to turn you over my knee in the study and put pressure on those same ribs. In here, we can utilize your bed to give you better support while I put you over my knee,” Mycroft explained. “And I think it’s time we get this taken care of Rosenwyn. Dressing gown off, please.” As she moved to do so, undoubtedly regretting that the loss of layers between the spoon and her bottom, he narrowed his eyes and looked closely at what appeared to be scenes from a film on the dressing gown. “Is that… Cinderella?”

With a slight huff, Rose got up from his lap and stood beside the bed where she untied her dressing gown and tossed it towards the end of the bed. His question drew a bit of a smile from her. “It was a gift from Lou. A ‘sorry you can’t dance, here’s a Cinderella robe, just keep on believing and the dreams you wish will come true’ gift.” She smiled a bit wider when Mycroft let out a noise of annoyance that somewhat resembled a snort. “Yes, I know, Louise is very special. Haven’t got a clue where she found it but it has served its purpose well.” Her smile faded and turned into a sigh as Mycroft moved the pillows to the floor and sat down with his back against the headboard, crooking his finger at her. 

“Hand me the spoon and come here,” Mycroft said sternly. “Pajama bottoms down and then right over my knee. Be certain you tell me if your ribs start hurting. Otherwise, accustom yourself to the idea of being there for a bit.”

Biting her lip, Rose moved towards the head of her bed and handed him the dreaded spanking spoon. Then she knelt on the bed and pushed her burgundy colored pajama bottoms to her knees before leaning over Mycroft’s lap. Almost immediately she could feel Mycroft reposition her, nudging Rose over further until her bottom was directly across his left knee.

“How do your ribs feel?” Mycroft asked. “Too much pressure?”

Reluctantly Rose shook her head. “No, I think it’ll be alright. I’ll tell you if it’s not, I promise.” She had no more wish to hurt herself further than he did.

Nodding in response, Mycroft reached for the waistband of her knickers and began pulling them down, ignoring the indignant squeak Rose let out. He pulled them down to join her pajama bottoms at the hollows of her knees and then reached for the spoon. “Are you going to be able to keep your hands away, or should I just hold them now?” He had no desire to award extra spanks for interfering, let alone risk smacking her hand with the spoon by mistake.

Rose liked to think she had the will power to keep her hands in front of her, but history had proven time and again she didn’t. “Hold this one,” she decided, putting her right hand back for him to take. 

Immediately Mycroft took her hand and held it at her side, giving it an encouraging squeeze. He was rather proud of his Rose for acting so mature, her bit of defensiveness in his study aside. Tapping the spoon light against her bum in warning, he then raised it and brought it down with a mighty smack to her right cheek.

“Ow!” Rose yelped. She always forgot how much that spoon hurt! The spoon fell again and again, landing randomly all over her bottom, leaving a mighty sting in its wake. Rose attempted to take her punishment stoically, though why she ever bothered trying she had no idea. The spoon was not an implement that allowed one to be very stoic. Therefore it wasn’t long until that plan went completely out the window as the spoon kept up a staccato pace of painful smacks.

“Ouch! Ouch! Ow!” Rose yelped, beginning to squirm over his lap. There was a brief pause and then she felt Mycroft’s legs pinning her own down.

“Not because you’re being a problem,” Mycroft responded before she could even ask why. “But I have I feeling I might be kicked in the face if I don’t preempt you.” A smile tugged at the corner of his lips when Rose responded to that statement with a typical Holmesian snort of derision. Mycroft quickly schooled his features though and returned to the task at hand which was to spank the daylights out of his ridiculous little sister.

The spoon resumed its rapid fire pace, setting her bottom on fire wherever it landed and quickly raising a dusty rose color. As the color grew brighter, Rose began wiggling in earnest, shifting her hips to try and get her bottom out of the spoon’s range. “Ow! Mycroft! Ow please! I’m sorry, I’m really sorry!” Rose pleaded. 

Just when she was certain her bottom couldn’t sting more or get any hotter Mycroft moved the spoon to her sit spots, intent on painting them a bright red. “Noooooo! No not there! Ow! OUCH! Ow, My! Aaaah!” Rose quickly burst into tears, unable to hold out with a full on spoon assault to that tender area. “My please! I’ll be good!” she called out.

“Yes there, and I’m sure you will be very good, but we’ve some way to go yet,” Mycroft commented as the spoon continued peppering her sit spots. “I want to make very sure that you never, ever, ever treat your life so callously again and if the only way to accomplish that is to blister your bum with this spoon, then that is precisely what I’ll do.” That was largely an exaggeration as Mycroft would never knowing raise actual blisters but the metaphor was an apt one. “You are far, far too old to still be making such poor decisions and I know you can do better if you try. But I promise you, Rosenwyn Aramantha, every single time you put yourself in danger, you will go over my knee and I don’t care how old you are!” The spoon aided in his lecture by providing a few very stern swats to accompany the most important parts of his lecture.

By now Rose was crying in earnest, still squirming over his knee. Her efforts made little difference to Mycroft’s aim, however, as the spoon thoroughly smacked every inch of her bum, turning it bright red. “Please My, I’ll be good! Stop My, please! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Rose pleaded through her tears. Still she received no reprieve and the spoon continued to spank, uncaring of the red ovals it left in its wake or how much she pleaded.

Mycroft watched carefully for the signs that Rose had truly had enough, though if she didn’t stop wiggling soon, he’d have to stop anyway as her poor bottom was tending towards a crimson color now. Just as he was thinking that, Rose pressed her face into the bedspread and let out a fractured wail that was followed by heavy sobs. The spanking stopped immediately and Mycroft dropped the spoon onto the floor before gently raising Rose’s pants and pajama bottoms. When that was done, he began rubbing soothing circles on her back. “Alright, we’re done now,” Mycroft told her in reassuring tone. “It’s all done.” 

Rose got up from his lap almost immediately and knelt on the bed as she rubbed her bum for a moment. Completely dismayed that it seemed to give her no comfort at all, Rose instead turned to Mycroft and reached for him. She wasn’t disappointed as Mycroft immediately pulled her close and held on to her tightly. Grabbing hold of him, or rather his waistcoat, Rose pressed her face against his shoulder and sobbed.

It had been quite some time since he’d last spanked her so harshly and Mycroft quickly found himself reverting to phrases and efforts to comfort her that he’d used when she was younger. “Shh, there, there,” Mycroft murmured as he began to rock her slowly. “I know it hurts, but it’ll be alright. You’ll be just fine, I promise poppet. You were very, very brave and you’re such a good girl Rose.” 

It hurt him to know that he was the cause of her frantic tears, but by the same token, he’d much rather spank her very soundly now than lose her or see her career end because Rose continued to act as if she were invincible or immune from consequences. Uncertain if she could even hear him or process the words just yet, Mycroft kept up with his post-spanking litany just the same. “Shh, shh, you’re alright. I love you very much poppet, so very much. I’ll always love you, even when you do very, very ridiculous things. But you’re such a good girl, I know you won’t do this ever again.”

Just when it seemed like she would never calm down, Rose’s tears began to slow and she began making apologies like a skipping record. “I’m sorry My, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she whimpered, turning her face away from his shoulder. “So sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Mycroft pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I know poppet, I know,” he murmured as he rocked. “No more sorry, it’s alright now. I love you and forgive you Rose. It’s alright now. Shh. Shh. It’s alright, poppet.” Rose looked exhausted and surely had to be after that spanking and so many tears.

“Promise?” Rose asked, trying to swipe at her tears.

“I promise. Close your eyes and try to sleep. I’ll tuck you in after a while,” Mycroft assured her. He continued rocking her and even patted her back gently, as Rose closed her eyes and fell fast asleep, his waistcoat still scrunched up in one hand.

\------------------------------------------------

A chirping noise roused Rose from her post-spanking slumber a few hours later. Mycroft was gone, though when that had happened and she had been tucked under the covers, Rose had no idea. With somewhat blurry eyes, she reached for her mobile on the nightstand and saw a text from John waiting for her.

‘Still alive over there?’

With a sleepy smile, Rose sent a reply.

‘Just woke up, have no plans to sit for the foreseeable future.’

‘Shall I come by with some arnica cream?’

Rose snorted and shook her head. She could just picture it now: Oh, hello Mycroft, I’ve just come by to see Rose and rub some cream on her sorry bum so it feels better. Just go about your life as if I’m not here. There was no way in hell that would go over well with her brother, who Rose knew merely tolerated John for her sake. Popping round to put his hand on her bare bum, even for healing purposes, was unlikely to be very popular with Mycroft and could very well result in grave bodily harm to John.

‘You may doctor me up tomorrow after practice when I get back to Baker Street.’

‘If you’re sure. Very quiet around here without you.’

‘Very sure, and I miss you too.’ 

Across London, John smiled broadly at her text. He didn’t even notice Sherlock was trying to get his attention until the man thundered his name. “What?” John asked, frowning at his flat mate.

“We have a case in Kensington,” Sherlock stated, returning John’s frown with one of his own. “Is she alright?”

“Rose?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Of course Rose, who else would I ask about?”

“Sore but fine from what she said. Worried?” John smiled just a bit, unable to keep from doing so. The way Sherlock worried and fussed over Rose always struck him as very sweet. For someone who claimed he was sociopath, Sherlock cared greatly for his little sister. Not that John had ever really believed the whole sociopath claim, not after he got to know Sherlock. 

“We have a case.” Sherlock turned around and exited the flat with a dramatic swirl of his coat, causing John to chuckle as he followed him out the door.

\----------------------------------------------------------

After convincing Mycroft that it would be entirely too painful to sit, supper had convened in the sitting room with the coffee table repurposed to hold their meal of beef bourguignon and cornbread. This allowed Rose to kneel beside it, rather than attempting to sit on the hard dining room chairs. It was unorthodox and unheard of in the Holmes household to eat outside of the dining room, at least when Mycroft was home, but Rose’s tearful pleas and knowing how hard he had spanked her just a few hours earlier swayed him. That and she’d also made them dinner. 

“Can I ask you something?” Rose asked once they’d settled into their meal.

“I don’t know, can you?” Mycroft arched an eyebrow at her, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Rose rolled her eyes and took another bite of her stew. “Are you ever lonely, My?” She promptly cringed as he began coughing.

Mycroft reached for his wine to wash down the food he’d just inhaled into his throat at being asked that question. “What an absurd thing to ask Rose,” he commented when his coughing fit finished. “Of course I am not lonely. Whatever made you think that I was?”

Blushing, she shrugged her shoulders. “Sherlock said you were all ominous about me bringing a bag because you miss me and wanted me to stay the night.”

The confusion on Mycroft’s face softened to comprehension. “Ah. Well, missing someone is not quite the same as being lonely. It is true that I do not get to spend much time with you anymore and considering your lifelong habit of falling asleep after have your bottom spanked, it seemed reasonable to just have you stay the night. But Sherlock was right, as odd as that sounds to say, I do miss you. Not always, generally not when you’re actually around me…” 

His teasing drew a laugh from Rose. “But it’s still a bit odd for me at times that you’re not here still. Not in negative way though, it’s just more noticeable at certain times than it is otherwise.” Mycroft’s eyes narrowed as a familiar gleam appeared in Rose’s eyes. “Whatever mischief you’re planning, put it out of your mind immediately, Rosenwyn. I am not lonely, nor will I ever be. I am perfectly content with life as it is, though I will admit that this is… nice. Having dinner.”

“We could do it more often if you like. When you’re free and I’m not practicing. I’d make time for you,” Rose offered. “I’ll even cook for you! You could come to Baker Street, too for dinners… Or not,” she amended when Mycroft made a disgruntled face.

“I will take you up on that offer here, where I can rest assured I shan’t be poisoned,” Mycroft replied firmly. “I do not trust Sherlock anywhere near my food. Additionally, Baker Street is far too… chaotic for my taste. Now, how have you been keeping yourself busy these past few weeks?”

“Many, many, many film marathons. I loved ‘Game of Thrones’ so, so much. It’s like… beyond words! It’s all history set in a fantasy medieval-ish land. You know, powerful families vying for power, never knowing if you can trust your allies or if your allies are only in it for themselves--”

“Allies are only your allies as long as it is convenient to be so,” Mycroft interjected.

“Precisely!” Rose exclaimed. “So thank you *so* much for that! I cajoled Sherlock into getting me the second season and I might not survive if I can’t get the other two soon. I just have to know what happens!”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Mycroft replied. “Have you done anything other than watch telly for hours on end?”

“Yes! I’ve been reading a lot too. I read The Great Gatsby and it’s really the most interesting book. I need to get my hands on some more of that author’s work. It was just a book on my shelf that I couldn’t for the life of me recall reading and gave it a go. Finished it in a day,” she said, pausing to eat more.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “That’s because you didn’t read it Rose. It was assigned reading for the classic literature class you took your first semester at university. The one you failed.” He raised both eyebrows at her as Rose began to blush.

“Not fair bringing that up. It was ages ago and I’d already read most of those books,” Rose countered. “You didn’t need to take it so personally that I didn’t pass it.”

“I didn’t… Have you lost your mind Rosenwyn?” Mycroft demanded. “Of course I took it personally! I had only spent fifteen years, since the day you came home from hospital, reading you the classics, teaching you how to read from them, teaching you languages with them! And then you go off half-cocked and fail the class? You’re damn right I took that personally. Just like I took your scorching of one of my Jules Verne, Jules bloody Verne, first editions personally!”

Rose let out a huff. “That was an accident and you know it.”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at her. “You do not end up in a closet with a candle and one of the first editions I kept in a locked display case by accident.”

“Alright, alright, My,” Rose replied wearily as she raised her hands in surrender. “I know the drill: this is why we cannot have nice things. I really did regret that, you know, long before I got spanked for it. I was just really excited to practice picking locks like Sherlock taught me and then I thought how much fun it would be to read with a candle in a dark place, like they did in the past when they read by candlelight. In our brother’s defense, though, Sherlock was the one that convinced me it was better to confess than go with plan A: hope you didn’t notice.” Her face took on a reddish hue at that admission and she quickly turned her attention back to her meal. 

Rose had just taken a bite of her cornbread when Mycroft asked the question she had been hoping he would forget to ask.

“So what was this you mentioned last night about a driving license? That DI Lestrade confiscated?” Mycroft asked. He raised an eyebrow at her before reaching for his wine glass. 

Choking on the cornbread crumbs she’d just inhaled, Rose reached for her wine glass and took a drink from which she almost immediately recoiled. “Oh my god, red wine is disgusting,” she announced, looking as though she had just eaten something particularly sour. Her water glass was quickly emptied before Rose turned her attention back to Mycroft.

“I got it while I was in Luxembourg. It wasn’t actually in my name, but I did take a real exam and pass it. I ended up keeping it and Greg found it when I was driving him out to the country house,” Rose began. “He took it and somehow Sherlock found out about it and that’s why… well…” She huffed as her face grew warm and red once more.

“If it had already been confiscated then why did Sherlock feel the need to correct you?” Mycroft asked, trying to piece it all together.

“He thought I had given him everything. Sherlock had taken my passports already, all three of them, and in an effort to reassure him that I wasn’t going anywhere, I gave him everything else I had.”

Mycroft nodded slowly. “With the exception of the license. You forgot?”

Rose shook her head regretfully. “I kept it. I thought I might have need of it someday for something.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“You’re a better planner than that,” Mycroft mused aloud. “If you did not forget you had it or misplaced it, there was a reason you kept it.” He had a sickening feeling that he knew precisely why she had and a part of him desperately wanted Rose to rebut his theory.

The color slowly drained from Rose’s face and there was no masking the pain that settled in her eyes, even as she began to study her cornbread rather intently. Though she wasn’t looking at him, Rose could feel Mycroft watching her, deducing every part of her and it made her stomach clenched tightly. It was times like this that Rose wished she had the ability to mask her feelings the way her brothers did. “My… just don’t. It is unimportant, irrelevant and counterproductive.”

Silence and tension filled the sitting room as they sat there, Rose inspecting her cornbread and Mycroft more or less reading her. He knew the reason and if he had been unsure, Rose’s body language and responses would decide it for him. 

“You kept it in case you needed to leave again,” Mycroft said bluntly. “If things did not get better between you and I that fake license would at least get you out of the country until you could obtain new identity papers from whomever your source for those was.” Saying it aloud, knowing it was true, that very knowledge twisted his heart painfully. Rose was still holding that fake license tightly as if it were a lifeline four months after returning. How close had he come to losing her again in that time? Really and truly losing her? He thought back to the words he spoke in his office the day after she returned.

I most certainly didn’t ask for you to be born and become my responsibility.

Rose closed her eyes as he uttered the words she had not wanted him to hear, let alone say. Her heart ached painfully as guilt gripped it hard and wouldn’t let go. Hot tears began rolling down her cheeks as Rose got up from the floor. 

The sound of a smothered sob drew Mycroft out of his painful realization and back into the moment. No matter how those words tore at him inside, Rose was the very picture of pain. Guilt was scrawled across her face as tears began falling faster and faster.

“I’m sorry,” Rose whimpered. “I… My, I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to know. I…” Her hand covered her mouth, preventing a second sob from escaping. “I’ll get dressed and go back to Baker Street.” Turning away from him, Rose began hurrying towards the stairs, her mind reeling as she tried to decide if there would ever be a way for her to make up for hurting Mycroft so deeply.

Seeing her scurry away with such devastation in her eyes brought Mycroft to his feet. “Rose! Rosenwyn Aramantha Holmes, come back here now,” he ordered. 

Biting down hard on her lower lip, Rose tentatively reentered the sitting room, skirting around the edge of it.

Mycroft arched an eyebrow at her. “Come here to me. Right here,” he said, pointing to a spot right in front of him.

Her feet seemed to walk of their own accord and Rose soon found herself in front of Mycroft as she tried to figure out what in the world to say to make this better. The tears dripped almost unnoticed from her eyes, sliding down her face. “I wish I could take back everything and--”

“You wish?” Mycroft challenged. “Don’t be an idiot, Rose. You were a child in rebellion because your world was turned upside down. A newly turned fourteen year old facing university that coming fall with one brother barely around and the other forcibly removed from you. You reacted as you should have, like the child that you were. When words weren’t enough, you tried to make your actions speak and force me to listen. I was…” Mycroft took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he put his hands on her shoulders. 

“In truth I was utterly overwhelmed, drowning in one crisis after another at work, worrying endlessly about Sherlock and trying to force him to get help yet again, wrestling with my own guilt at removing him from the house and from you in particular,” he admitted. “I needed for you to grow up very quickly and that was a foolish thing to ask for. You were young and needed the family life Sherlock and I together managed to provide somehow. Without it, you were struggling as much as I was.”

Sadness and regret warred for dominance in his eyes as Mycroft continued speaking. “Only I couldn’t see that, I just saw that you were rebelling and could not for the life of me figure out what was wrong or how to make it better. So I scolded and shouted and disciplined harshly. I said things that I never should have. You may have been acting like a horrible brat at the time but I was not acting like the responsible guardian I should have been and had been in the past.”

Tears were streaming down Rose’s face as she listened to Mycroft in near disbelief as he said all the things she had wanted to hear for so long but had not dared to ask. “I’m so sorry for everything I did, My. I made bad choices and they were my choices, not yours, nor did you push me into making them. And I’m sorry I couldn’t fix us and just left so that we could have space and hope it would fix itself.”

Mycroft hugged her tightly, as tight as he possibly dared to. “You ridiculous little idiot,” he murmured. “It was my job to fix what happened, not you; never you. I pushed you away and you withdrew accordingly. It’s much easier to stop being hurt if you stop trying, stop feeling, and that’s just what you did. What we both did, in our own ways. I so very much wish I had seen how much you were hurting and understood why. Our disconnect should never have come to the point that it did and it was never, ever your responsibility to fix that. You were the child, I was the adult and that was my job.”

Rose shook her head in dismay. “But My, I--”

“No, Rose,” Mycroft cut her off decisively. “No buts, no more sorry. I should have seen that you had not overnight become some sort of hellion. You’ve always been a good girl; ridiculous, far too mischievous, and sometimes quite foolish, but you’ve always been a good girl, a good person. I let myself forget that instead of seeing the sudden change as the warning sign that it was meant to be. It is…” He paused to clear his throat. “Something that I am only now beginning to understand and to know how much I hurt you, how much of this was a mess of my own making. I have never, ever regretted anything more in my life than I do pushing you away.”

Gently he pulled back and held her at arm’s length. “You made mistakes, we both did, and mine were far graver. You’ve more than paid for those acts of rebellion and I don’t ever want you to think of them again. Nor do I want you to doubt for a second that you are loved and that I am immensely proud of the person you have become. Still a lot to learn, you’re young, but you are a person that anyone would be proud to have raised, Rose.”

Sobbing earnestly now, Rose reached for Mycroft and held on as tightly as she could. Mycroft swayed with her in his arms and waited until her sobs died down before whispering in her ear, “Forgive me; please.”

Tilting her head back, Rose looked into his eyes. Normally so sharp and full of purpose as they assessed the world around him, now Mycroft’s eyes glittered with raw hurt; perhaps even tears he was far too stubborn to shed. Slowly she nodded her head, maintaining eye contact with him. “I forgive you,” Rose whispered. “If you can forgive me too.”

In an instant the weight on his heart was gone and relief coursed through Mycroft’s veins. “Oh poppet,” he murmured, sounding rather hoarse and quite unlike himself. “I forgave you a long time ago, when you were gone and this house was so painfully empty. I know what I said in my office when you first returned must make that seem like a ridiculous and untrue statement. 

“Anger is a much easier emotion to deal with than the plethora of other things I felt on your return,” Mycroft explained as his face colored slightly. “It is not an excuse, but I want you to understand that you are very much forgiven and that I never meant what I said that day. I… I lashed out at you because there you were, seeming so grown up and assured with everything sorted with no need for me anymore. It’s idiotic, but it’s the truth.”

Rose let out a long-suffering sigh. “Oh My,” she murmured, shaking her head. “I will always need you. What precisely I need may change over time, but I will always need you.” When the look on his face changed to one of deep contemplation, her brow creased with worry. “What? What’s wrong?” Rose asked, a sense of urgency in her tone.

“I’m trying to decide if the fact that you will always need me is a relief or if I should be very afraid,” Mycroft quipped as a smile played at the corners of his mouth.

Initially caught off guard by the bit of levity in what had been a very tense situation, Rose quickly dissolved into laughter that brought the sparkle back into her eyes and assured Mycroft that all was well between them.

 

The following morning Mycroft was busily answering emails in his study when strains of music began floating towards the front of the house, alerting him to the fact that Rose was awake. Intending to finish quickly and join her for tea if not a late breakfast, Mycroft mentally groaned as the music grew louder and louder until finally he could take it no longer. Locking the laptop and putting the screen down, Mycroft headed for the source of the music. What he expected to find when the source was located was certainly not what he saw.

With coffee brewing and toast in the toaster, Rose had turned the kitchen into a dance floor. Wearing her soft, black trousers with a wide leg and a gray shirt with the words ‘Dance Until You Can’t’ Rose was doing the cha-cha with her eyes closed to a song on her mobile that he most definitely did not approve of. It certainly didn’t help matters that she was singing it at the top of her lungs.

“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir! Voulez vous coucher avec moi,” Rose sang. “He sat in her boudoir while she freshened up. Boy drank all that Magnolia wine. On her black satin sheets is where he—”

“Remember yesterday when I said I missed you?” Mycroft asked, almost shouting to be heard over the music.

Rose let out a shriek and almost fell over, her eyes opening wide to see her scowling big brother standing in front of her, arms crossed over his chest. She quickly skipped past him and shut off the music.

“I’m reconsidering my feelings on that,” Mycroft continued at a much more normal volume. “Because I certainly do not miss you doing the cha-cha in the kitchen to a song about prostitutes. When are you going back to Baker Street?” Moving past Rose and her rapidly reddening face, Mycroft started some tea for himself.

“I’m going back after practice,” Rose assured him upon regaining her ability to speak properly. “And it’s a really good song, I swear. It’s a remake of Patti LaBelle after all. The whole prostitute bit is really irrelevant in terms of dance-ability.”

Mycroft merely arched an eyebrow at her before changing the subject. “Are you still interested in getting a driving license? If you are and obtain your permit, you may log your practice hours with me. Just a thought.” Surely the experience would be better now than Rose’s original attempts to earn her practice hours!

“You’re serious?” Rose asked. “That would be great! Thanks! Have breakfast with me and then give me a ride to the studio will you? And you can skip the charades- just park in the lot and follow me inside. No need to drive around for five minutes and then sneak into the viewing room and make me think you aren’t there watching me my first day back.”

“You’re a beastly child,” Mycroft grumbled, narrowing his eyes at her. “I would do no such thing.”

Rose smirked at him before retrieving a coffee mug from the cupboard. “Of course you wouldn’t,” she replied in a mock placating tone. “Seriously though, you’re welcome to just come in with me. I don’t mind if you want to for a bit and be sure I’m not pushing myself too hard. But no interfering! Let me do what I do and trust me, alright?”

Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Mycroft nodded his agreement to her terms. “You’re going to torture me with horrible songs and vulgar dance moves today, aren’t you?”

“Who me? Never!” Rose protested, giving him her most innocent smile.

“Yes you, always,” he grumbled before kissing the top of her head and gently nudging her in the direction of her breakfast. Though he grumbled on the outside, Mycroft felt at peace on the inside in a way he hadn’t felt for quite some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe it’s been so long since I last updated! Life is settling down now that school is done and I plan to do much more frequent updates this summer! I hope this chapter was worth the wait and I’ve got plans in place for the next one already.
> 
> Someone suggested a while back that I set up a tumblr account and I seriously can’t figure it out. So instead I’ve set up a pinterest account with boards that correspond to each of the Rose stories featuring images of her outfits, little Rose herself and more! Just go to pinterest and add a slash mark followed by cb1603 to see the boards. They are all up to date, including this chapter’s images! Enjoy!


	11. La Vie en Rose

“No!” Rose gasped. “Three couples in dead heat and they throw a freestyle jazz round at you to sort out the winner? That’s insane!” As her first day back at practice began to wind down, Rose and Alfred were taking a much needed break. It was a break to catch their breath and to catch up on the latest news with one another, particularly the jazz competitions Alfred and Louise had done during Rose’s absence.

“It _was_ insanity and they gave us just twenty minutes to listen to the music and come up with something. My mind went totally blank,” Alfred admitted. “Because the music was so random and purposely meant to trip us up I think. The other two couples seemed terrified and Louise was all ‘Oh, I got this!’”

“What song was it?” Rose asked. “I would imagine not many songs or scenarios could throw off good dancers. For a minute while you think it through, but not for much longer than that.” She smiled as Louise pulled her mobile out and selected the song. Psy’s ‘Gangnam Style’ blasted from the mobile’s speakers, causing Rose to let out a squeal. “How did you cope with that? Please tell me you put parts of that silly dance in there, please!”

“Oh please, of course we did!” Louise replied. “Come on Al, let’s show Rose our stuff!” With Rose looking on, Louise and Alfred began doing the Gangnam Style dance, interspersing jazz moves when at certain points. Somehow they managed to make it seem perfectly logical in a delightfully chaotic way.

“I am really, really impressed! Look at you two go!” Rose called out. “Lemme join in!” The three of them began imitating the fake horse-riding moves, laughing hysterically as they did so.

Inside the viewing booth, a loud sigh cut through the tension that had been building in the small space. Just half an hour before, John had arrived at the studio and joined Mycroft in the booth. He quickly found himself in silent, yet hostile territory with the tension hanging thickly between he and the eldest Holmes. That sigh, however, quickly banished the tension, at least temporarily.

“It’s great to see her smiling like that again, isn’t it?” John asked, turning his head a bit to look at Mycroft.

“If you are inquiring as to my sigh, I assure it that it was not out of relief,” Mycroft commented, sighing once more. “Thousands and thousands of pounds I spent on her dance education and this is the result: Rose galloping around like a lunatic to one of the most idiotic songs known to man.” Yet even as he complained, the start of a smile tipped the corners of Mycroft’s mouth just a little. It was hard to resist smiling at Rose’s antics, much as it always had been. At least the safer antics at any rate!

“But she’s happy and if looking silly like that makes her happy then I’m all for it,” John murmured. He let out of a sigh of his own as the silence resumed. “I’m not the enemy, you know. If you prefer to operate in a vacuum of silence we can do that, but I’m not going anywhere and I certainly have no intensions of hurting her.”

The two men shared a look; both appeared quiet and calm on the surface but beneath that were the ‘real’ faces. One was resolute, steadfast, firm and loyal; the other was authoritative, protective, and faintly smirking. “You may not think you are the enemy, Dr. Watson, but you have yet to prove to me that you are worthy of her,” Mycroft responded in a dull tone, as if the conversation bored him.

John nodded slowly. “I have just one question for you: would _any_ man be acceptable to you and gain your approval?”

There was a long pause before Mycroft responded, saying simply, “No.”

The doctor let out a low whistle. “I’ve got my work cut out for me then.” When Mycroft simply looked annoyed, John could only grin.

\-----------------------------------------------------

“Alright, I am foxtrot-ed out,” Rose finally announced a few hours later when ‘Sway’ by The Pussycat Dolls ended. She had that whole clip memorized by now and was already growing a bit sick of it. After all, PCD was no Dean Martin! “It’s been a good, long day, we’ve done well and I need to collapse now.”

“Well that doesn’t sound good,” Alfred laughed. “Don’t be collapsing anymore or all those men of yours won’t let you come back!”

Rose smiled and shook her head as she wrapped her arms around Alfred’s neck. He lifted her up off the ground, making her laugh before gently putting her back on her feet. “Are all those men of mine the reason you never came to visit me that whole six weeks?”

Alfred nodded. “I was the one dropping you so much and I thought I might be in mortal danger or something should I show my face round Baker Street! It’s really good to have you back though.” He smiled and patted the top of her head, smirking when Rose stuck her tongue out at him.

“It’s great to _be_ back,” Rose assured him with a smile. “And I have no intensions of leaving you to Louise’s mercies ever again. She’ll steal you away for your jazz and tap abilities and leave me high and dry without a partner! But you wouldn’t have been in mortal danger had you stopped in at Baker Street to say hi. Mycroft has better things to do, Sherlock thinks it’s my fault for pushing us both so hard, and John would have scolded at worst, so you’re in the clear.”

“Speaking of…” Alfred inclined his head in the direction of the doorway.

Rose immediately turned her head to see what he was looking at. A smile crossed her tired face as she saw John leaning against the door frame with that slightly crooked grin of his. “You’re a sight for tired eyes,” she decided, closing the distance between them until she stood before him. She stayed just out of cuddle range, knowing that she was dripping in sweat and desperately needed a shower which did not make for the best cuddles.

“Am I?” John asked, returning her smile as he reached out to cup her cheek. His observant doctor’s eyes took in the signs of exhaustion in her eyes, her stance, and all over her face. While he had observed her taking breaks, having snacks and plenty of water while in the viewing room, it was clear that Rose had pushed herself hard today. Perhaps too hard, given her very recent and undoubtedly thorough smacking. “I was going to offer to take you out to dinner but by the looks of you what I need to do is take you straight home and to bed.”

“DR. WATSON!” Mycroft thundered as he exited the viewing booth just in time to catch John’s comment. “That is--”

John, however, was not about to be made to feel as if he was being inappropriate or be treated as if he were an idiot. He quickly turned around and met Mycroft’s outraged look with an authoritative one of his own. “In my capacity as a doctor,” he interrupted, using what Rose called his ‘Captain’ tone. “As _her_ doctor in fact. She’s showing all the signs of exhaustion despite the precautions she took today with her breaks and snacks. Her body is no longer used to working this hard after six weeks without exercise of any sort. As her doctor I am saying she needs to go straight home to bed. A little professional courtesy wouldn’t go amiss.” John arched an eyebrow at Mycroft in warning before turning back towards the patient in question.

Rose stood there, her mouth gaping open as she looked between her boyfriend and her brother. Nobody spoke to Mycroft that way; at least not if they ever wanted to be seen or heard from again! She and Sherlock were perhaps the only exceptions to that rule, and only marginal exceptions at best. Rose was alternately proud of John for standing up to Mycroft’s interference and inappropriate assumption and rather horrified at Mycroft’s outburst. Just as Mycroft was about to respond to the bit of a dressing down John gave him, Rose cut off both men.

“Gentlemen,” she said warningly as she moved to stand between the two men. “I would truly hope that making me happy would be of more importance than bickering with one another, which does not, as it so happens, please me.” Rose cocked an eyebrow and stared both men down for several seconds before continuing on. “Mycroft, I would appreciate it if you did not look for, or invent, reasons to criticize John. He would not make inappropriate comments in front of you. And John,” she turned to look at her boyfriend. “He’s my brother, he’s not going anywhere, and we can’t ever escape him so…”

Mycroft began to smirk, assuming that John would receive a slight dressing down as well.

“… So well done you for standing up to him and forgive him because he’s Mycroft. He can’t really help himself,” Rose finished. She could _feel_ Mycroft’s scowl going right through her it was so intense! “And now I need a shower and then John I need you to help me home because I’m not sure how much longer I’ll manage to stay upright.”

Immediately Mycroft exited the room, returning seconds later with Louise in tow. “Make certain she doesn’t fall over in the changing room, will you?” he requested of the redhead.

“Aye, aye, cap’n!” Louise quipped, offering Mycroft a salute before bursting into giggles.

Mycroft rolled his eyes at her before turning towards Rose once more. “Sister mine, do try to not damage yourself too terribly before I see you again.” He made no move to hug her as public displays of affection were not something he could countenance in a situation like this.

Despite the lack of a cuddle, Rose knew precisely what Mycroft really meant. “I love you, too, Mycroft. We’ll do dinner or something soon, yeah?” When he inclined his head in silent agreement, Rose gave him a brilliant smile before he turned and left the practice studio.

“I’m not going to have to climb right into the shower with you, am I?” Louise asked. Her eyes were filled with concern as they looked Rose up and down. “We can do that if necessary, but I’d like to know up front, thanks.”

Laughing, Rose shook her head. “No, just wait outside of it in case you hear a loud crash, at which point you should enter the shower immediately because I might be half dead.”

Grinning, Louise gave Rose a squeeze before looking in John’s direction. “I’ll bring her back safe and sound in a tick!” Waving him off with one hand, Louise wrapped an arm around Rose’s waist and started for the changing and shower room.

“Lou, I can walk you know,” Rose pointed out, giving Louise a bit of a side-eyed look.

“Sure you can and then when you fall over and break your arse, that bloke of yours is going to have a fit about it and this girl wants to stay out of the un-fun kind of trouble,” Louise explained, smirking slightly. “And then--”

“Speaking of,” Rose interrupted her best friend’s diatribe with mischievous grin. “I’ve got a bit of a project I could use your help with, if you have a bit of free time an afternoon this week.”

Louise’s eyes immediately lit up. “A project hm? Is it a project that involves mischief? Because if there is mischief involved, I am so there!”

“Potentially a great deal of mischief…” The two girls entered the changing rooms, heads together, whispering feverishly together.

\------------------------------------------------------------------

“Every single part of my body hurts,” Rose moaned. “Even parts I forgot that I had.”

“I’ll get you taken care of,” John assured her as he carried her upstairs. He went past her flat and the main portion of 221B, carrying her up to his bedroom instead. “I’m going to set you down,” he warned.

“On my stomach!” Rose called out. She didn’t even want to try and sit just then. With a groan, she let John lay her on the bed and kicked off her heels. It was one of her favorite pairs, gray with red trimming and featuring an adorable Scottish terrier on them. They didn’t match much but Rose hadn’t cared, especially not when she’d found a red dress covered with little Scotties! There was nothing like dressing pretty after a good, hard work out and a cleansing shower. She stretched her arms and legs as far as she could, whining as she did so.

“You worked far too hard today, my love,” John murmured. “First things first.” He handed her some paracetamol and a bottle of water. “Take these while I get the arnica cream, they’ll help with all the aches.” He leaned over and kissed the back of her head before heading to the closet to retrieve his kit.

A moment later he returned to the bed and sat down beside her. “Alright madam, let’s see to that bottom of yours.”

Rose nodded eagerly adding a “Yes, please!” just in case he wasn’t sure how much she wanted that bloody cream.

“So what _is_ your style exactly?” John questioned as he started to lift her red, dog patterned dress.

“Vintage inspired, retro infused, a bit of ‘gee, this will annoy the daylights out of Mycroft’,” Rose replied. She was about to go on when she heard a sharp intake of breath behind her. “God, it must look worse than it did this morning,” she murmured, trying to look over her shoulder. All he could see was John staring at her backside. “John?”

“You’re…” the doctor cleared his throat. “You’re wearing stockings and garters.”

For whatever reason, Rose was certain that was supposed to explain something to her but for the life of her she couldn’t figure it out. “I am yes… And also lacy blue knickers with a matching bra.”

“Do you _always_ wear garters and stockings?” If she said yes, John was really going to have to give himself a talking to about paying more attention to things because he had certainly not noticed that the few times he’d had her bare bum over his knee.

“Most of the time,” Rose responded slowly as a frown crossed her face. “About ninety-six percent of the time. Why? Is that a good thing?”

John chuckled. “Love, you have no idea.” The girlfriends he’d begged over the years to please wear stockings and garters because he found them so utterly sexy that had turned him down flat and here right in front of his nose was the one that did it voluntarily and he hadn’t even noticed! “It’s very sexy,” he added, catching Rose’s look of utter confusion. “Incredibly sexy in fact. Very feminine and beautiful.”

Rose’s face softened and she gave him a bit of a smile. “Oh; well, in that case, lucky for you I do it regularly. Though at this moment in time I’d really rather you admire my stocking covered legs later because I could really use some arnica cream _now_.”

“Right,” John agreed. “Your knickers are pretty, by the way.” That earned him a giggle and John flashed Rose a grin before putting his thumbs in the waistband of her pants, slowly and carefully pulling them down. He winced at the sight of her bum, which was somehow still a rather impressive shade of red and sported an outline of a spoon head in a few places. He tugged her knickers down lower, revealing her equally red sit spots that showed a hint of bruising.

“That looks incredibly painful,” John sympathized. “I think you and I are going to wait a bit before I take my turn, yeah?”

Her head nodded enthusiastically. “Yes please! Or we could skip it all together,” Rose suggested hopefully. She reached for one of his pillows and put it under her head, having a feeling she might need to hold on to it when he rubbed in the healing cream.

John shook his head. “That was a great try love, but we’re not skipping it. We’ll wait until Friday though. For now, some arnica cream for you and I’ll try my best to be gentle. I knew I should have come over with some last night.” Attempting to be as gentle as possible he began to apply the arnica cream to her very well spanked little bum.

Rose made a whining sound as he began to put the cream on, finding even that slight amount of pressure to be nearly unbearable and, just as she’d thought, Rose held on tightly to the pillow. After a moment though she looked over her shoulder at him, arching an eyebrow at his comment about attending to her bottom the night before. “I hardly think Mycroft would have taken kindly to my request to have my handsome doctor-boyfriend come over and tend to my bum. I’m sure he knows it’s happening now that I’m home, one way or another,” Rose paused to glare at the spots in the room where a camera might likely be placed. “Besides, it’s one thing to allow it to go on here, but it’s a whole other thing to permit it to happen inside his house. Baby steps, John, baby steps.”

With a sigh, John nodded his agreement. He wished it were different but the reality was Mycroft still didn’t like him, he just wasn’t going to actively get in his and Rose’s way for her sake. That was a start at least. “It’s a bit late but this should still help some with those spoon marks and the bit of bruising down here,” John said, gently tapping her sit spot.

“Ow,” Rose whined, pressing her face into the pillow for a second. “I’m going to have to plead with Greg to give me something to do that does not require sitting unless I am significantly healed come morning.”

“That’s doubtful, significant healing,” John admitted. “But this will help, just probably not enough for a full shift of doing nothing but sitting on it. Poor little bum,” he teased, trying to get a laugh out of her.

Rose snorted and shook her head. “You don’t feel bad for me at all! You’re going to do the exact same thing at the end of the week, so save your feigned pity John. Mean boyfriend, you are.”

John leaned over and kissed her head again. “I know you don’t mean that for a minute and, to be honest, I do feel bad that you’re hurting. Even if it’s well deserved, I don’t like the thought of you hurting and my not being able to take it completely away. One of the problems with being a doctor dating a very naughty young lady.”

“I’m worth the trouble though, hm?” Rose questioned, looking back at him again. She smiled when he nodded.

“Worth every bit of it Rose and I mean that,” he promised in a serious tone. “No teasing, you really are. Now, your bottom is all taken care of, how about those other aches? Want me to get some of your smelly stuff and give you a bit of a massage? What hurts the most?”

Giggling, Rose shook her head. “Smelly stuff, huh? It’s in my loo and I’m not moving, just so you know. And I can’t even begin to prioritize what hurts more than anything else, I just hurt everywhere equally I think.”

“Poor love,” John replied, making a ‘tsk’ noise. “Don’t worry about moving, I’ll get it and be right back.” He smiled when Rose leaned up enough so he could kiss her before departing the room, leaving her snuggling a pillow on the bed.

After retrieving the spare key from downstairs, John let himself into Rose’s flat and headed straight to the loo. What should have been an easy retrieval mission, however, quickly turned complicated as John surveyed the number of bottles, jars and containers in the room. Some sat along the edge of the tub, a few on the back of the toilet and several on the vanity by the sink. “Good god, how much stuff does one girl need?” he muttered before beginning an all-out search.

“Lavender bubbles…” He put that one aside. “Lavender shower gel…” “Shaving cream… Nope, that’s hair things right there,” he decided, turning away from the items around the bathtub.

 “Lavender body butter…” John frowned. “What the hell is body butter? And why’s everything lavender?” Uncertain what the body butter might be, he put it aside and did the same with the vanilla scented version of it. John opened a plastic container and closed it right away as it contained nothing but make-up and nail polish. “Alright now this is getting ridiculous.”

John turned to the items on Rose’s vanity, noted the lavender bar of soap and shook his head, a smile crossing his face. “Acne cream… She never has acne!” He pushed aside a box of hair clips and a box of earrings. “I am running out of things here… And I’ve been talking to myself for the past few minutes. God help me, I’m turning into Sherlock!” Ignoring the two bottles of perfume, he opened the top drawer of the vanity and finally located a plethora of things actually labelled lotion.

“Finally,” he murmured. John was unsurprised to find the vanilla and lavender scents in the mix yet again along with something called Pearberry and Cashmere Glow- _Whatever those are_ , he mused.  Given the plethora of various lavender scented items in throughout the room, John selected the nearest lotion that boasted lavender in it. “Seems to be a lot to learn about a girl from the things in her loo,” he commented as he turned out the light. “ _And_ I’m talking to myself again. Bloody hell.”

After locking up the flat behind him, John returned to 221B and went back up the stairs to his room. “Had I known there were so many bottles and what-not,” he called out as he went. “I would have--” John’s words abruptly cut off as he entered his room to find Rose fast asleep where he’d left her. Smiling softly, he put the lotion down on the dresser and went to his closet to locate a spare blanket to put over her. At the last second he grabbed one of his button-ups as well and draped it across the pillow Rose was using, just in case she woke up and wanted to change out of her clothes into something more comfortable for sleeping. With great tenderness, John then covered her with the blanket and tucked it snuggly around her before leaning down to softly kiss her cheek.

A quick look at his watch told him it was 8pm, really far too early for him to go to bed for the night. Still, he turned off the ceiling light and opted for the bedside lamp that was a softer light and less likely to wake her. Easing himself onto the bed, John set the alarm on his mobile for 730 the next morning and put it on the bedside table and grabbed the latest Alex Cross novel to keep himself occupied.

A few hours later, just as John was putting the novel back on the bedside table, he felt Rose begin to stir.

“Huh wuh?” she murmured sleepily, looking confused. “W’re am I?”

“Hi darling girl,” John responded, giving her a smile. “You fell asleep before I could give you that massage. How are you feeling?”

Rose returned his smile with one of her own. “Sleepy. I should go.” She started to rise from the bed when John reached for her hand.

“Stay,” he said softly. “I even put out a shirt for you to wear. Stay, please? I’m not asking for sex; just you,” John added, in case she was concerned about that. Of course he _was_ sexually attracted to her, but this was hardly the time for them to have their first coupling, especially not when Rose was so tired and overworked.

She smiled and leaned over to brush her lips against his. “I know,” Rose assured him. “That’s what I love about you; you’re very sweet and a gentleman. I’d love to stay.” She kissed him once more before getting up to change. “Are you going to turn off the light?” she asked.

“Do you want me to? I will if you want,” John offered. “Whatever makes you comfortable love. I suppose I should change too.” He got up from the bed to retrieve his own pajama bottoms and t-shirt. “You know, I’ve seen your bum before plenty of times. Not much else left is there?” he teased, trying to get a laugh from her. A bright grin spread across his face when he heard her giggle.

“I suppose not,” Rose laughed. “Though this isn’t a strip tease, you know.” Turning her back to him, Rose unzipped her dress and let it fall to her feet. Stepping out of it she reached for the button-up he’d left out for her and put it on, buttoning the top button before unhooking her bra and removing it. The remaining buttons were then fastened, but the top one was undone so the collar hung more loosely around her neck.

“Comfy?” John asked. His eyes fell to the pile of clothes on the floor, narrowing a bit. “Going to leave your clothes just like that?”

Rose laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Your room is entirely too tidy. I might just leave them there so it looks more lived in and less orderly. What will you do about that?”

An eyebrow quirked and John gave her a firm look. “Pick that up, or there’ll be consequences.” He wasn’t the least bit surprised when she shook her head no. “Then I’m going to have to punish you Rose.” He shook his head before a devilish look came into his eyes. John pulled her towards him and wrapped a strong arm around her waist. His other hand tipped her chin up towards him and pressed his lips against hers, then gently covered her mouth with his, seemingly devouring her soft, sweet lips.

The kiss felt so intimate to Rose, yet gentle, but hungry and needy at the same time. No one had ever kissed her the way John did and every time it made her stomach swirl in a most delightful manner. Her arms went around his neck as she returned his kisses.

“Are you learning your lesson?” John asked, his voice a whisper against her lips.

“No,” Rose murmured in reply. “I’m not certain this is a very effective punishment.” She giggled just a bit as he shook his head.

“Oh good, I was hoping it wouldn’t be,” he murmured, capturing her lips once more. “Keep being incorrigible and I’ll just have to keep trying, hoping it gets through to you one of these times.”

They continued to stand there and kiss for another moment or so longer, until during one pause to catch their breath, Rose yawned widely.

John pressed his lips to her forehead. “Bedtime for us both, darling girl.” Unable to help himself, John picked up her clothing from the floor and began folding it, placing the items neatly on top of the dresser. As he did so, he watched Rose climb into his bed on her side, scrunching the pillow up and moving it around until it was just where and how she wanted it.

When her clothes were all nice and neat, John joined her, sliding under the covers and holding his arm out, inviting her to nestle against him. He smiled when she did so, the thought striking him once again how perfectly they seemed to fit together whenever he held her, each curve or muscle matched by the other. John kissed the top of her head as a protective hand drew her closer to him. “Can I ask you something?”

“I don’t know, can you?” Rose quipped, giving him a sleepy but impish grin.

“Oi! Don’t be cheeky,” John mock-scolded. “Very rude. Alright _may_ I ask you something?”

Rose nodded, settling into his arms. “Yeah, anything you like.”

“What’s with all the bottles of things in your loo and why so much lavender?”

Rose burst out laughing, pressing her face against his chest as she did so. “Oh my god John! You were so serious and contemplative sounding and then you ask about my ‘bottles of things’? You’re ridiculous. I don’t know, really. I just have a lot of products, some I use more regularly and others I don’t. Some have been gifts, mostly from Louise. Anything lavender though is something I purchased, or if it’s the bar of soap Mycroft’s had that shipped in since I was little and the nearby shops stopped carrying it.”

“Spoilt is what you are miss. Fancy soap flown in,” John teased. He expected her to laugh or smile at least a little and was slightly alarmed when she didn’t. “Why does he fly it in?”

“It’s the same soap my mother used and the shops stopped carrying it shortly after she died. I needed it,” Rose said quietly. “She always smelled like lavender, always used things with lavender in them and I just had to have that soap. It made her feel… closer in a way.” She shrugged a bit. “It’s hard to explain, but I was only ten. Ever since then I’ve always used that soap, except for when I was off and away of course, but even then I still bought things with lavender in them. It’s really comforting and reminds me of her, of happy times.”

John pulled her closer, resting his cheek on her head. “I’m sorry Rose. I didn’t mean to tease about something so sentimental like that. I didn’t know.”

“Oh, I know that,” Rose assured him. She squeezed the hand that was holding her close, interlacing their fingers. “It didn’t bother me.”

“I’m glad. Thank you for sharing that with me.” John leaned down to kiss her. “You know, you and I are becoming rather domestic it seems. How do you feel about that?”

Rose smiled at him. “I love it. It feels right. If only life wasn’t so crazy for us both! Dancing and cases and such. Why?”

“Well,” John began. “I was thinking I might take you away. A holiday just for the two of us after this string of competitions of yours is done. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds amazing! Do we plan together or are you going to surprise me?” Rose asked, before letting out a yawn.

“Not sure yet, I’ll think on it. I also think we should go to sleep. We’ve both got an early day tomorrow, you back to work and me at surgery.” John leaned over and turned off the lamp, bathing the room in darkness before kissing her one last time.

\----------------------------------------------------------

Twenty minutes before Rose was due to be up, her body woke her up instead. She murmured and stretched sleepily before opening her eyes. John was beside her, still asleep and a look at the clock beside the bed told her he could still sleep for a bit longer. She, on the other hand, wouldn’t fall back asleep before the alarm was due to go off.

Easing herself out of bed, it was only when she remembered that she was in John’s button-up that Rose realized she had a bit of a problem. Or perhaps a very large problem depending on one’s definition. She was in her boyfriend’s shirt, in his bedroom, in the same flat as Sherlock. And god only knew when he actually slept.  How was she supposed to go downstairs like this? Even if she redressed her in clothes from the night before, there’d still be the issue of being up and dressed and descending the stairs from John’s room to contend with. 

_Not much for it_ , Rose thought to herself. _I’ll just have to brave it_. Tucking her clothing under her arm, Rose began tip-toeing down the stairs, straining her ears to try and pick up any sounds of Sherlock in the sitting room or kitchen. Sure enough, the closer to the landing she got Rose could hear him in the kitchen. Plates and mugs were being set out, undoubtedly for her and John’s breakfast and, if they were lucky, Sherlock’s as well. And, if she was very, very lucky indeed Rose could get away without him noticing her.

No one with Sherlock for a brother was _that_ lucky.

Rose knew that he heard her and had undoubtedly heard her all the way down the stairs despite her efforts to be light on her feet. Choosing not to look in the direction of where Sherlock might be located, Rose continued to tip-toe ever closer to her own flat. Really, it was almost like a grown up version of pretend, in which they both pretended they could not see or hear her and that was quite fine with Rose! Naturally, Sherlock had to then spoil that wonderful bit of make-believe by not only acknowledging her presence but speaking to her as well!

“You can stop pretending. I know you’re trying to escape and even more than that, I knew you never left last night,” Sherlock announced, not even looking in her direction.

There was a long moment in which Rose wondered if he was going to begin yelling or add some other rule or do something in response to this. He was her brother, he was protective of her; really, it was only expected. When he said nothing, Rose cleared her throat and asked, “And?”

For the first time, Sherlock looked at her. “And… your coffee is ready. Do you want sausages with your scrambled eggs? Or toast with jam, though I can’t guarantee John won’t cause you bodily harm for getting into his jam.”

This… was a moment. A _huge_ moment, in fact. No objections, criticism, rules, awkward questions, or a request to put on more clothing. Instead, Sherlock was accepting, respecting, and acknowledging the fact that Rose was an adult, something she knew was not easy when it came to either of her brothers. And when it came to things like respect and boundaries, Sherlock was not very good at understanding the concepts or honoring them even if he did. All this flashed through Rose’s mind, her heart swelling with love for her brother. She quickly crossed the room and threw her arms around Sherlock, hugging him tightly.

“This isn’t answering my question about breakfast,” Sherlock chuckled, happy to return the hug with one of his own. “You seem quite happy suddenly and I have no idea why.”

“You do too,” Rose challenged, standing on her tip-toes to kiss his cheek. “Sausages. I’ll brave getting into John’s jam another day when my arse doesn’t hurt.”

Sherlock responded by simply saying, “Language!” with the same tone and expression Mycroft was so fond of when uttering that particular admonishment. He smiled when Rose merely giggled. “Get your coffee and I’ll finish your breakfast. Looks like there is something on your plate already.”

Turning her head in the direction of the table, Rose found a small wrapped package on her plate. She went to pick it up and, after examining it carefully for a moment, tore the wrappings away to discover a most unusual gift. It was a white t-shirt, one side of which was sprayed with what looked like a great deal of blood. Above the blood near the collar were the words ‘I’m fine.’

“Oh my god,” Rose murmured. “This is epic, this is a work out shirt. Oh my god!” The longer she looked at it the more she felt like giggling and within a matter of seconds was doubled over with laughter.

“A more appropriate shirt has never existed in this world, so don’t say I’ve never bought you anything nice,” Sherlock commented. The smirk was more than evident in his voice despite the fact he was facing the stove in order to finish her breakfast.

By the time John descended the stairs to join them for breakfast, both Holmes siblings were laughing hysterically over what had to be the most _in_ appropriate shirt the world had ever seen. “Oi you two,” he interrupted, giving them a frown as he pointed at the shirt. “That is _not_ funny.”

“Yes it is!” Rose rebutted, swiping at the tears her laughter was causing. “That is the epitome, nay the very embodiment, of sophisticated dark humor!”

“I need tea before I can handle you two all cheerful in the morning,” John decided, scrunching up his face at that. Then, shaking his head, he went to retrieve the tea canister from the cupboard.

“That face! Oh my god, you looked just like a seriously angry hedgehog!” Rose announced, continuing to laugh.

“I looked like _what_?! Yeah, definitely need tea. An angry hedgehog indeed!”

Sherlock snorted before giving his friend a smirk. “She’s right you know. That’s why you’re disgruntled about it.”

“I do not look like an angry hedgehog,” John grumbled.

He was still muttering about it when Rose came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him, pressing a kiss to his jawline. “I love you, you know. Even when you’re an angry hedgie,” she whispered. Rose ran her hand down his arm and back up, lightly squeezing his shoulder as John attempted to pour his tea.

Setting the kettle down a bit harder than necessary, John turned to face Rose and placed his hands on his hips. His eyebrows went up warningly while he pinned her with a hard look. Or rather, it would have been a hard look had John’s eyes not been twinkling with amusement. “Woman; you muck about with my tea and I’ll _show_ you an angry hedgehog.”

Rose nearly doubled over as she started laughing again, her sides aching from so many good belly laughs. Rather than double over and hold her sides, however, John dropped his feigned stern façade and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. He looked deeply into her eyes, their faces so close to each other, and Rose felt her heart turn over in response to the yearning look that she saw there.

“I love you Rosenwyn Holmes,” John whispered his breath hot against her ear.

Rose put her arms around his neck and leaned in closer and was about to kiss him soundly when an _“Ahem!”_ behind her brought that action to a halt.

“I made food and it’s getting cold,” Sherlock announced, sounding a bit injured that his efforts were being ignored. He threw a significant pout in their direction.

“He doesn’t cook often, we’d best get to it,” John laughed, quickly stealing a kiss before letting her go.

Forty minutes later Rose was rushing out of 221B. “Bye!” she called out. “See you both later!” Hurrying down the stairs and out the front door, Rose realized how good it felt to be living again; really living. Having a place to go, things to do, an actual reason to be dressed as one could not leave their house in pajamas at twenty! Well, Rose certainly didn’t leave the house in her pajamas at twenty but she supposed there were plenty of people that did, though heaven only knew why! Still, she was just as comfy in her own eclectic clothes- a white skirt covered in bicycles of various colors and a white, long sleeved jumper also sporting a bicycle- as if she were in her pajamas and it was wonderful to be dressed pretty, have her hair done, and be going somewhere she that she was needed. It was going to be a good day, Rose was sure of it, even if her bum was still sore. Nobody could wield a wooden spoon quite like Mycroft! Still, that hardly dampened her day as she set off down the pavement towards the underground.

After a moment of walking, lost in thought, Rose caught the sound of her name being called. Stopping, she turned around to see John and waited patiently for him to reach her.

“Oi! Rose! Wait up!” John called, jogging down the pavement to catch up with her. “I wanted to walk you to the tube,” he said, coming up alongside her and offering Rose his arm.

“I know how to walk you know,” Rose teased as John reached her and immediately offered her his arm. “Been doing it for years and years now.”

“Oh I know,” he assured her with a smile. “But can’t I walk my lady towards her destination just because I want to? And might even be heading in the same direction?”

“Oh, heading in the same direction, are you? And where is that exactly?” Rose asked, raising her eyebrows. “Surgery? The Met?”

John coughed a bit. “Somewhere in that direction, yeah.” When she gave him an expectant look John shrugged. “Give me a minute and I’ll come up with somewhere I most definitely need to be that is along your way!” he finally laughed, a bit embarrassed by his inability to think on his feet just then. “Maybe I really do just want to walk you because I like to. That’s within the realm of possibility, yeah?”

Rose acted as if that needed careful thought, tapping her chin in feigned contemplation. “Well, I suppose just this once I could allow my gallant knight to escort me.” He shot her a look that made her sigh. “Oh alright, put away those sad puppy eyes! You’re a terrible tease John Watson! You may walk me anywhere and everywhere forever if you wish.”

A smile slowly spread across John’s face as he moved his arm around her waist. “Can I hold you to that?” he asked.

Rather than answer verbally, Rose turned her head and kissed him briefly before they upped their pace towards the underground.

\------------------------------------------------

“We’ll also need to prep our reports for the trial and find out who the crown prosecutor’s want for their witness,” Sally Donovan pointed out. She and Lestrade were having a small conference at her desk, she in her chair and Greg sitting on the edge of the desk as they reviewed what the Met needed to provide at an upcoming criminal trial. “They’ll want Anderson too, and—Sir, are you listening?” Sally asked, watching as Greg’s attention seemed to be pulled away from her.

“Mmhm,” Greg responded, but it was clear he wasn’t listening to her anymore. Sally turned in her chair to see what was distracting her boss, only to see Rose Holmes entering the department with two to-go cups from the nearby coffee shop. Sally let out a put-upon sigh but refrained from otherwise commenting as Greg stood up from her desk and approached his young employee.

“It’s you! Thank god, I missed you so much,” Greg greeted. He reached for the macchiato, holding it lovingly in his hands, before taking a drink of it, letting out a satisfied, “Mmm.” His eyes fell on Rose and, despite the grin threatening to show itself, remained impassive. “Oh, hey kid,” he greeted her as though it were an afterthought.

Putting one hand on her hip, an eyebrow was raised in amused contempt and Rose began tapping her foot. “That all?” she asked. “I’m gone for six weeks and bring you a macchiato and all I get is ‘hey kid?’” Though she intended to keep up her act of being affronted by his reception, Rose just couldn’t do it and her face broke out in a smile. As soon as she did so, Greg pulled her in for a one armed hug.

“Glad to have you back kid,” he said sincerely. “It’s been miserable around here without you. None of these lot ever bring me macchiatos and the withdrawals have been hellish at best. Isn’t that right Sally?” He turned to grin at his sergeant.

“If you say so Boss,” Sally replied after rolling her eyes at him.

Ignoring Sally’s annoyance, Greg gently began steering Rose in the direction of his office. “Let’s talk about what I need you to do today, hm? There’s quite a lot of it, but I’m sure you’re up to the task.” Once they were inside his office, Greg shut the door behind him and motioned to the chair. “Take a seat Rose.”

His suddenly serious tone garnered Rose’s rapt attention, as did the fact that Greg went to sit behind his desk with a grim look on his face. “I’ve only been here two minutes, what did I do to merit that face?” Rose asked, carefully taking a seat.

“Oh, nothing yet,” Greg hurried to assure her. “And thanks for this. I’ll be glad to have this tradition back.” He smiled again before it faded a little. “Listen… I just want to make a few things clear to you before I toss you back to work. From now on, if you’re injured, I don’t want to you to come in without a doctor’s okay. John’s or whomever else you might see. That stunt you pulled, coming in here with broken ribs…” His voice trailed off and Greg shook his head.

“If you ever pull something like that again, Rose Holmes, you and I are going to have words and you’re not going to like ‘em,” Greg promised, his face turning dark with displeasure. “You could have died in my arms on the floor of the homicide division because you came in rather than get medical attention. This job is not worth your life and I don’t want to be the one to tell your brothers that you died. I tell enough people that their loved ones have died. Do you understand?”

“I do,” Rose said softly, her face rather pale and pinched with worry. Greg had never been angry with her before; at least not since the crime scene had been destroyed after she first returned. This was hardly the first day back she’d envisioned! “I’m really sorry about that,” she added. “It was very stupid of me and I’ve learned that, I promise. It won’t ever happen again.”

“Good,” Greg said with a nod. “Because it’d be a shame to lose you to foolishness.” Getting up from his desk, Greg came around to put his arm around Rose and squeeze her shoulders once again. “That’s all the scolding you’re getting from me, because I’m certain you’ve had plenty from the rest of ‘em. Now, you would not believe the amount of filing I need done straight away. You up for the challenge?”

The color began returning to Rose’s cheeks and she gave Greg a cheeky smile. “Hmm. I’m really beginning to think you do just keep me around for macchiato runs and boring work after all.”

“Right you are,” Greg said with a laugh. “Now hop to it.” He gave her a wink and waved his hand in the direction of a pile of boxes that needed her attention.

Smiling much more brightly now, Rose returned his wink with one of her own and, after a hearty drink of her coffee, opened the first of six boxes and dug right in.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You realize your brother is going to horribly murder you, don’t you?” Louise asked as she watched her friend enter the alarm code for Mycroft’s townhouse.

“Possibly, or he might be very happy. He’s lonely Louise!” Rose responded, opening the door and leading the way inside. The two entered with their arms full of various items, including a small crate.

“Yeah, did he actually say that or are you just thinking it? Because if you’re just thinking it and he’s not lonely at all, he’s going to be really unhappy to find himself gifted with a cat,” the redhead pointed out. “And I’ve only got one best friend so I’d really hate to lose you. Damned inconvenient for me.” The two girls shared a grin before bursting into giggles.

Ever since Rose had stayed the night with Mycroft, she’d been concerned that he was feeling lonely. He did live in a rather large and very empty house and while he may have only hinted that he missed her, rather than outright stating he was lonely, Rose had read between the lines. The thought of him alone without company night after night was rather depressing, particularly if Mycroft actually was lonely in the quiet townhouse. With thoughts of easing his loneliness in mind, Rose and Louise had been visiting animal shelters in London for the past few days, looking for just the right friend for Mycroft. A little ginger colored kitten had stolen Rose’s heart and all the adoption paperwork and payments had been completed in short order, allowing her to bring the kitten to its new home that Thursday.

“Come on, we need to get everything set up before Mycroft comes home. Anthea said they were getting ready to leave for the day when I texted her,” Rose explained as she put the crate down near the door.  “You set up the food and water bowls somewhere in the kitchen and I’ll take care of the litter boxes.”

Within several minutes the house was fully equipped with food, litter boxes and a variety of cat toys, including a tall scratching post with little cubbies for the kitten to go in and out of. With everything in place, Rose and Louise hugged and the redhead departed, leaving Rose to spring the surprise on her brother.

“Well, you’re all ready,” Rose murmured to the kitten, reaching a finger into the crate stroke its soft head. “We just have to wait for My to come home and find you!”

Twelve minutes later, Mycroft Holmes entered his home and found a suspicious item waiting just inside the entry way. It was an animal crate, of that much he was certain, and as he approached it, Mycroft saw a small kitten inside that immediately began meowing at him. Utterly confused at what this creature was doing here, a note on top of the crate caught his attention. It read:

_My name is Ginger Rogers and I’m a four month old kitten who wants to be your friend so you’re not lonely anymore._

Even if he hadn’t recognized Rose’s handwriting, she was certainly the only person he knew that would sign a note with a heart and, even more tellingly, name a ginger colored cat Ginger Rogers. With a sigh, he stood up and looked around for signs of his sister, but did not immediately see her. “Rosenwyn, I know you’re still here, come out from wherever you’re hiding and explain what the devil this is all about!” Mycroft began tapping his foot as he waited for Rose to show herself.

After a moment or so passed, Rose exited the kitchen and approached him, her face turning rather red as she did so. “Hi.”

“’Hi’ is not an explanation, young lady. What is this?” Mycroft pointed a finger at the crate.

Unable to help herself, Rose quipped, “A cat, obviously. Are you quite well My?”

“Are you _trying_ to earn a spanking right now?” Mycroft asked bluntly. “Because that is the road you’re walking down presently and I would suggest you stop being cheeky and explain yourself or we can adjourn to my study. What. Is. This?”

Rose blanched and shook her head. She was definitely _not_ trying to get herself another spanking, especially when John was due to spank her tomorrow evening. “No, no, I’m not looking for a spanking. You seem lonely,” she blurted out. “And it makes me feel bad to think that you’re lonely here without Sherlock and me in this big old house. I thought I might find you a little friend so you’d have a bit of companionship. So, this is a cat and her name is Ginger Rogers. She had another name but it was stupid so I renamed her and it suits her.”

Mycroft closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Lonely indeed! Leave it to Rose to do something so incredibly ridiculous for the very sweetest of reasons. That did not, however, change the fact that this was not at all acceptable. He did not need a companion of either the human or the animal variety! “Take it back,” he ordered sternly. “Today.”

“Mycroft!” Rose replied with a slight whine to her tone. “She was a kitten in need of a home and you’re a man who has a very large home with no one but you in it! It makes perfect sense and I will not under any circumstances take her away. Besides, she’s a cat, not a jumper, you can’t just return her! Come on, even if you aren’t lonely, you’re doing a very great thing for an animal in need and making your dearest and most darling only sister incredibly happy.”

Crossing to the crate, Rose opened it up and lifted the kitten out, showing Mycroft her sweet face before putting it on the floor. “Look at that little face and tell me you don’t want to give her a home and make friends with her.”

“I said take it back and I meant _now_ Rosenwyn!” Just as he ordered her yet again, the little ginger kitten came to rub her fur against his legs before curling up on his feet.

“See? She loves you already and you’re honestly one of the most unlovable people in the world,” Rose pointed out, ignoring her brother’s indignant snort. “She’ll love you so very much if you let her and she’ll be great company for you. Plus, she’s not a dog so you don’t have to take her outside or walk her and The Mayhew gave me her vet records and she’s completely up to date on everything. Come on My! We’re begging here, really and truly begging! Love her just a little, please?”

As Mycroft opened his mouth to tell Rose precisely what he thought of her well-meaning but inappropriate gift, the kitten lying on his shoes began to purr. He looked down at the small, ginger colored creature and let out a sigh. “I am _not_ under any circumstances whatsoever calling her Ginger Rogers.”

\----------------------------------------------

“I’ll be mother,” Mycroft offered, reaching for the tea pot. It was Friday and he was having his weekly tea time chat with Her Majesty in which he caught her up on the goings on, heard her thoughts and advice on matters, and then quite regrettably was forced to engage in conversation about personal matters.

“Thank you Mycroft. Chocolate chip biscuit?” the Queen offered. Knowing his love of sweets, though she was not entirely certain how he managed to keep it from affecting his figure, she put two on his plate while he poured the tea.

“Here you are, your Majesty,” Mycroft said, putting her cup on its saucer. “Two lumps as usual.”

“Thank you,” she said with a smile. Her look, however, quickly changed to a frown as she noticed something quite odd. “Mycroft, is that a cat hair on your sleeve?”

Swearing under his breath, Mycroft brushed the ginger colored hair away from his suitcoat. “Unfortunately yes,” he told her with a sigh.

The Queen waited a moment for him to continue on, as surely there must be a story attached to that put-upon sigh and the glare he’d given that little bit of cat hair. “Mycroft, are you not going to tell me the story? I know there’s a story and glaring at me will not get you out of telling it to me.” She picked up her tea and drank a bit of it while giving him an expectant look.

“My sister,” Mycroft began, sounding a little annoyed. “Has decided that I am very lonely and in need of company so she adopted a cat and presented it to me yesterday. I could not convince her to simply return it.”

“Oh, how lovely!” the Queen declared, smiling at him. “Such a thoughtful gift and if one cannot have a Corgi then a cat is a lovely companion. What is its name? Is it a boy or a girl?”

Mycroft drank some of his tea before responding. “It is apparently a girl and I have named it Cat.”

The Queen frowned for several seconds. “You named your cat, Cat? You cannot name it _Cat_ , Mycroft Holmes!”

“Well I certainly wasn’t calling it Ginger Rogers either, no matter how much Rose insisted that I do so!” Mycroft replied, rolling his eyes at Rose’s antics. “Cat is by far a much more dignified name. It will learn to respond to it in time.”

This time it was the Queen’s turn to sigh. “Mycroft, Cat is not a name. It is a species identifier, but not a name. Neither is your female cat an ‘it’ so do stop calling her that. That’s rather disingenuous you know.”

Mycroft’s mouth dropped open as the Queen _scolded_ him about what he had named the bloody cat he didn’t even want in the first place! “Then what is your suggestion, if I might ask?”

“Show me what she looks like. Have you got a picture of her on your phone?” the Queen asked. She let out a little sound of delight when Mycroft managed to pull up a photo. She smiled, seeing quite clearly it was a sneakily taken photograph of Rose cuddling the kitten that Mycroft had taken the night before. The kitten really was just a darling! Very pretty and sweet looking with a darling little face. “She looks like a Lilibet,” the Queen decided with a firm nod. “That shall be her name.”

For a moment Mycroft could only stare at the queen and internally wonder at her thought process. Lilibet was her childhood name as she could not properly pronounce Elizabeth when she was quite young, or so the story went. And yet that that was the name she had chosen for his cat? It was utterly flabbergasting and he hardly knew what to say. After a long silence stretched between them, Mycroft relented and accepted her decision with a rather petulant sounding “Fine.” _Now there will definitely be no getting rid of the damn thing_ , he thought.

Taking his mobile back from the queen, he attached the image to a message and added text before sending it on to Rose.

‘Apparently the cat is named Lilibet, by order of the Queen. M’

Across London, Rose was busily working at her desk at the Met when her mobile chirped. After digging around in her purse for a second, she located the mobile and opened the message. Then, to the bewilderment of everyone around her, Rose burst into uncontrollable giggles as she imagined the conversation prompting that text!

In the desk next to her, Sally Donovan stared at Rose as though she had lost her mind before shaking her head, completely convinced she would never understand any of the Holmeses, not even the purportedly ‘normal’ one.

 


	12. Guiding Star

Friday evening found 221B relatively peaceful--- or at least as peaceful as 221B could be. John was about to make tea and watch the news while Sherlock continued… whatever it was he was doing in the kitchen. Though John’s thoughts were on tea and a prayer that an interesting case would come along and give Sherlock something constructive to do, there were other less ordinary thoughts on his mind. Namely precisely what he would say to Rose when she came home and it was time to spank her! And what to do the spanking with.

Hoping that some tea would bring on some sort of revelation of the right words, tone, balance of being gentle yet stern, and what to smack her bum with, John headed into the kitchen to make himself a cuppa. “Tea?” he asked, looking over at Sherlock. Immediately his eyebrows went up, as did his level of impatience with the consulting detective. “God, Sherlock, what are you doing? Are those spleens? Are you splicing spleens in our kitchen?”

“For a doctor you’re rather squeamish about such things,” Sherlock noted, giving John a look out of the corner of his eye.

“I am not squeamish about blood, body parts, or anything else of that nature. I sewed people back together on a battlefield when their limbs were blown off. Someone who is squeamish could not do that,” John reminded him. “What I _am_ squeamish about is you doing it on the kitchen table where people eat and not at St. Bart’s or somewhere. Speaking of, why aren’t you at St. Bart’s?”

Sherlock let out a frustrated sigh and used the heel of his hand to move his goggles up onto his head. “Molly said I’m banned for a week.” The petulant tone was accompanied by a considerable pout that John was all too familiar with. “And she took my riding crop.”

John’s eyebrow rose, silently encouraging Sherlock to share the details of what had led sweet Molly Hooper to ban Sherlock and take away his riding crop.

“Well I was trying to match a pattern of markings on that corpse that was pulled out of the Thames yesterday. So while I was waiting for the fingerprint development chamber to finish trying to pull prints of some items found on the shoreline that may be tied to the crime, I went looking for another corpse to try and replicate the crop marks on it. They were clearly crop marks, no discernable pattern, but I wanted to find out how long it would take for them to develop. Naturally I needed a female corpse of similar size and shape,” Sherlock explained. “And--”

“Oh god,” John groaned. “Let me guess; you picked a corpse that was ready to go out to the funeral home which is now welted and bruised beyond belief.” He let out a sigh when Sherlock nodded curtly, confirming that he was correct. “No wonder she banned you. Sherlock, that’s just not on. You can’t just appropriate bodies at your choosing. Molly gives you special privileges and it’s wrong to abuse them.”

“Hmm,” Sherlock hummed. “Anyway, I thought you already knew. You were sitting over there scowling for the past several minutes and it made me think Molly had texted you about it. I’ll… say… sorry?” he offered, the words more a question than a statement.

“You didn’t even apologize? Sherlock!” John scolded, scowling once again. “You have to apologize to Molly. In person,” he added, when Sherlock reached for his mobile. “Flowers wouldn’t go amiss either, considering all she lets you do in there.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but did not state whether or not he would do as John suggested. “So what were you scowling about then? I put a tarp on the table this time,” he pointed out a bit defensively.

“I was trying to figure out what to do about Rose,” John admitted. When Sherlock raised an eyebrow, he elaborated more. “I know what, not the how. Baker Street is a bit limited in… well… spanking implements.” Just then his mobile chirped. “Unlike your brother we don’t have an arsenal around here,” he stated, reaching for his mobile.

‘Let me know if you’d like something sent to Baker Street for your meeting with Rose. M’

John stared at the text on the screen, going completely still for thirty seconds. Was he seriously seeing this? How the hell did… Suddenly he looked up and around the room, drawing a puzzled look from Sherlock. He passed over the mobile as he continued a visual scan of the kitchen and sitting room. John could see nothing obvious and turned back to Sherlock, shaking his head. “That is rather frightening. I think we need to search the flat for cameras again; and potentially microphones, too!”

Scowling, Sherlock got up and began physically searching in the most unlikely places to find a camera. After all, Mycroft would hate to be predictable by placing them in obvious places. “How much of an impression are you trying to make on Rose?” he asked while searching.

“A considerable one. Why? Do you have a suggestion?” John asked, joining in the search.

Sherlock nodded. “I do, but you cannot tell her it was my idea. And it’s something I know you have here already…”

\---------------------------------------------------

“Will you be requiring a ride tomorrow as well?” Mycroft asked a few hours later while dropping Rose off at Baker Street. Now that she was back at the studio regularly, he had resumed providing her transportation. The tube was safe enough… for _other_ people. Not for his Rose. Not when he had a driver ready, willing and able to transport her when Mycroft himself was not able to. It was just safer that way, and it provided him a way to spend a few minutes chatting with her daily.

“We probably won’t be going late,” Rose replied as he pulled over to the curb. “It’s just after dark that I prefer rides. Just to be safe. But if you want to, and you’re free, I can text or call tomorrow when Alfred and I are done. We’ll have the whole day and probably call it quits right around supper time.”

“I’ll await your text then,” Mycroft agreed. “Before I let you go, please tell me that you’ll pay attention to what Dr. Watson tells you tonight and take it seriously. I worry.”

Rose leaned across the seat and kissed his cheek. “I know you do. I’ll listen, we’ll talk, things will work themselves out. I’m trying hard to take all of this seriously because I know it _is_ serious. Wish me luck?”

“As if luck has anything to do with the matter. But I’ll say it merely to make you happy: good luck.” Mycroft followed this statement by rolling his eyes and shooed her out of the car. He waited until he saw her unlock the front door and enter the building before he pulled away.

Calling out a hello to Mrs. Hudson as she passed the slightly ajar door, Rose hurried up the stairs and let herself in 221B. “I’m home!” she called, taking her heels off and sitting them by the door. Her purse and gym bag joined the shoes.

“Hello my love. That was quick coming home,” John greeted as he rounded the kitchen. He handed her a cup of coffee before kissing her.

“A girl could get used to this. I came home early like you asked. Mycroft gave me a ride and he even wished me good luck with you,” Rose said, giving him a wink. When John started laughing loudly, she shot him a look full of confusion. “I’ve missed something haven’t I?”

“It’s just slightly ironic that he was wishing you good luck with me when a couple hours ago he was offering to send round something from his drawer since we lack the arsenal he boasts,” John pointed out, still chuckling. That chuckling came to an abrupt halt, however, when Rose’s face darkened and she reached for her mobile, beginning to angrily type a text. Without missing a beat, John took the mobile from her and set it aside. “Whatever you’re saying, I’m sure you’ll want to rethink those thoughts before you send them to your brother if your face is any indication of what that message was going to be,” he pointed out. The last thing Rose needed was to get herself into any further trouble and Mycroft was highly unlikely to ignore her angry texts.

Rose sighed heavily. “Alright, you’ve got a good point,” she admitted, leaving the mobile where he placed it. “But he’s going to hear about it later, that brother of mine.” Giving a shake of her head, Rose sipped the coffee and murmured happily. “Perfect!”

“Good, I was hoping so,” John admitted, giving her a smile. They stood there for a moment, Rose with the mug in her hands and he with a hand on her arm as though they were each waiting for the other to make the first move. _This is bound to be awkward_ , he thought to himself. While he had given her a bit of spanking after she had returned to work far too early, this would be the first time since they’d begun dating that he would be giving her an all-out spanking. This was new territory for them as a couple and John knew he was a bit anxious about doing it right and treating her like an adult taking responsibility for her actions rather than a child And if _he_ was a little anxious, Rose must be as well.

“So…” Rose murmured, her face beginning to blush.

“Best get on with it yeah?” John had asked her to come home at 8pm in order to give them plenty of time to deal with things and settle for the night without cutting too much of her practice time. It made little sense to stand there awkwardly and waste that time. “Why don’t you go to your flat? I’m going to get some things from my room and I’ll meet you there.”

Rose nodded, her blush deepening; a visual sign of her nervousness.

John reached for Rose, pulling her close and tenderly kissing her forehead. “I love you,” he whispered. “And I would never hurt you or push you beyond your comfort zone. Tell me honestly love, are you alright?” While he certainly felt that Rose should answer for her poor choices with what seemed to be the most effective method of doing so, John would never go forward with this spanking or any other if she was frightened or uncomfortable. To do so would not only violate her trust but make his words of love hollow and meaningless.

Closing the small distance between them, Rose brushed her lips against his very gently. “I’m alright,” she then whispered. “Just nervous and I don’t think that’s unavoidable. I’ll be very, very glad when we never have to talk about my ribs ever again,” Rose admitted. “I’ll see you in a few.”

Leaving her shoes in 221B, Rose exited the flat and went to her door, unlocking and entering her own. She left the door unlocked, knowing John would be right behind her. In the meantime, as a sort of answer to the butterflies swarming in her belly, Rose had just a few moments to put a hastily thought up plan into action…

As Rose headed to her flat, John went upstairs to his bedroom to retrieve the two items necessary for his talk with his girlfriend- a belt and the jar of arnica cream. It was still a rather odd dynamic for him, inflicting pain and then treating it.  Sure, he’d done it in Afghanistan, though that was generally the inflicting part and only when he absolutely had to. He was a soldier through and through, but he had the heart of a doctor even in the middle of a war zone. This situation, was different, John told himself as he took a belt from his closet. This wasn’t injuring, this was discipline, done out of love and concern, not anger. There would be something wrong if he _liked_ having to discipline Rose.

After retrieving the jar of arnica cream, John headed back downstairs and entered Rose’s flat. The door was shut tightly and locked, though that wouldn’t stop Sherlock from getting in given the fact that he had a key. But it was unlikely Sherlock would interrupt them since he was well aware that Rose was going to be spanked this evening. In fact, the belt had been Sherlock’s idea for an implement that would make a serious impression on his wayward sister that wouldn’t involve taking Mycroft up on his offer.

Rose was sitting on her lavender colored sofa when John entered the flat and her eyes immediately saw the belt in his hand. Her mouth fell open and for several long seconds just stared at John. Finally, she responded with a little “…Oh.”

“I never thought I’d live to see the day that a Holmes replied with just an ‘oh’,” John teased, trying to keep the mood light, for the moment at least. He knew he’d struck the right chord when Rose smiled a bit. After placing the belt and the arnica cream on the coffee table, John joined her on the couch and reached for her hands, squeezing them gently in his own. “First things first: how’s your breathing today, love? Had any shortness of breath at the studio over the last couple days? Any soreness?”

 “No, no soreness for the past week or so. If I pressed on it hard or ran into something it would hurt,” she amended. “But I don’t make a habit of poking myself or running into things.” Her comment drew a chuckle from John and Rose smiled, glad that a bit of levity wasn’t out of place. At least not for the moment. “I haven’t had much shortness of breath but my body is having to re-acclimate itself to working out for long hours on a daily basis again. I find I need to take more breaks than I used to, just to catch my breath and rest a bit, but I don’t find it a struggle to breathe. So I think that’s good?”

“That’s good,” John agreed. “And it’s going to take a bit of time to work back up to the kind of stamina you had before you were injured. You’ll get there though, just keep at it and be mindful of your limits. Speaking of which…” Rose ducked her head a bit as he said that and John reached out to tip her chin up. “You could have come to me,” he said quietly. “You _should_ have come to me. First and foremost, I am your doctor and want to keep you healthy. But more than that I want _you_ to want to keep yourself healthy, not because we’re fussing at you about it, your brothers and I, but because you understand how important it is.”

“I do want that,” Rose assured him. “I’ve learned my lesson, I promise, but you need to understand where I’m coming from too. I’m trying to build a professional career and I can’t just pull out of major competitions for every little thing, especially ones that I know I can win. Not that I’m saying this was a ‘little thing’ because it very much wasn’t,” Rose cautioned. “But if I essentially report to you for every little bitty thing, and you tell my brothers, how often am I actually going to be allowed to dance? I don’t want to face competitions where I’m weighing the balance of winning versus upsetting my family in order to dance. I mean, if I had a really serious problem I would come to you. I intend to from now on,” she amended.

“But I don’t want to have a battle over every bump and bruise. Dancers get roughed up, we’re working our bodies just as hard as anyone else in physical sport. Over the years I’ve learned which bumps and bruises are not such a big deal. I made a mistake this time,” she said, her face growing scarlet. “A really big mistake, but I don’t intend to make it again. But I can’t practice my craft and have my career if we’re going to constantly be battling over every bruise. That’s not good for my career, but more importantly, it’s not good for us,” Rose pointed out, her face earnest in its plea for him to understand. “I don’t want to spend our time together fighting.”

“I don’t want that either,” John assured her. “That’s no way to have a relationship. And I know full well that if I try and lay down the law with you, even for your own good, that won’t work either. You wouldn’t tell me anything at all and muddle through it, leaving me to clean up your naïve patchwork of bandages and home cures. Frankly, that terrifies me far more than compromising with you on the lesser things.” He raised her hands to his lips, kissing both of them as he gathered his thoughts.

“Come to me for everything and I promise to keep an open mind. If there is a way to safely patch you up and get you through a competition, then I will do it,” John said seriously. He squeezed her hands. “I don’t ever want to see you go through what you have the last six weeks and if compromising will prevent it from happening again, I’ll do it gladly. If I had known, at the very least you would have been rushed to surgery the second the competition ended. As I said the day I collected you from the Met, this injury could have serious impacts on your career, not to mention your life. What if you had punctured a lung? I can’t take the chance that you won’t come to me because I fuss over the little things. If you tell me about aches, pains, bruises, and the like, I’ll sort out bumps and bruises from what’s a serious concern, I won’t stop you from dancing unless it’s truly serious. Can we do that? Can you live with that?”

Rose took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. “I probably sound like a broken record at this point but I truly didn’t know I could puncture my lung. I don’t want that again, or any other injury that could damage my career.” Without even realizing it, one hand moved to where the scar was on her chest from being attacked and covered it protectively, as if thinking about the attack and resulting punctured lung made it hurt again. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you and chose not to come to you for help,” she added sincerely. “But I can and will promise to trust you from now on and come to you with everything.”

When she covered her scar protectively, John cupped Rose’s cheek and brushed it gently with his thumb, attempting to calm the flooding of memories that would naturally coincide with such a gesture. “I love you and I want to protect you and sometimes that means protecting you from yourself. But we’ll find a middle ground for this and I promise to stop short of locking you away in an ivory tower,” he teased.

His teasing garnered a smile from Rose as she leaned into his soothing touch. “Just keep in mind, please, that dancers have special ‘mind over matter’ powers when it comes to pain. If we didn’t dance every time something hurt a bit, we’d hardly ever dance at all. And definitely forget any ivory tower ideas.”

“Some pain may be unavoidable, but at least I can take care of your minor injuries, and keep you excellently mended. That has to give you some sort of advantage on the dance floor. After all, how many professional dancers can afford a live-in doctor at their beck and call?” John said with a smile. That smile faded a bit as he realized, now that they’d come to an understanding, it was time to move on to the much less pleasant part. “I think it’s time we get the rest of this taken care of love. Let’s go into your room, yeah? More space in there and I want to make sure your ribs are alright.”

Rose’s eyes flickered over to where the belt sat on the coffee table and a wave of embarrassment rushed over her. It was silly being so nervous, belt or no belt, because this was John. He would never hurt her and in fact had spanked her before. But it felt so different now. They were a couple now and despite having discussed this before, it still felt awkward for Rose.  “Do we have to?” she asked quietly.

“I promised you a spanking if you endangered your health again and you certainly did. Not just your ribs but the blatant overuse of medications to try and work through the pain, something that we have talked about before,” John reminded her, his tone gentle but firm. “So yes, we have to.” Standing up from the couch, he grabbed the belt and arnica cream with one hand and held the other out to Rose. He was as anxious as she was to have this over with. He knew he was making the right choice because she was such a stubborn thing, but it certainly wasn’t high on his list of things he wanted to do. When Rose stood and took his hand, he squeezed her’s lightly and murmured, “Good girl.” It never helped to encourage her along the way as he had no doubt this was not easy for her. With that thought in mind, he led the way to Rose’s bedroom and placed both the belt and the arnica cream on the bed.

“I’m a bit worried about the pressure on your ribs,” John admitted as they stood there near the bed. “So I think what I’m going to do is put you over my left knee with your torso well on the bed and we’ll use one of your pillows to cushion your ribs so we’ve covered all the bases.” Letting go of her hand, John sat on the bed and then beckoned her forward.

Moving between his legs, Rose bent way over his left knee so her whole torso was lying on the bed with just her bum propped over his knee. She took the pillow he offered and put it underneath her, adding more cushioning for her ribs, just in case. “I’m ready, or as ready as I’ll ever be,” Rose told him once the pillow was settled.

Since he intended to make this a longer spanking, and only use the belt at the very end, he’d decided to start over her clothes. When Rose said she was ready, John put his arm around her waist and raised his hand, bringing it down sharply across the center of her behind. It felt… odd. Frowning to himself, John brought his hand down twice on her left cheek and twice on the right. Something was off, her bum didn’t feel right and for the life of him he couldn’t figure it out. Just then it came to him and John rested his hand on Rose’s bottom. “Did you put magazines down your knickers or something?” he asked. Without waiting for a reply, John lifted her ladybug covered dress…

“How many pairs of knickers have you got on?” John questioned, unable to stop himself from laughing as he spotted the multiple pairs of knickers covering her bum. “There’s gotta be at least four pairs here. One…” he counted, lifting the waistband of one pair. “Two… three….”

“There’s six pairs actually,” Rose interrupted. “The pair that I put on this morning plus five more. I was really hoping it would take you longer than that to figure it out,” she admitted, beginning to giggle. Before long, the two of them were in the midst of a laughing fit.

John ran his hand down Rose’s bum, giving it a light smack right above her sit spots. “Did you think I wouldn’t ever notice that?”

Rose shook her head, almost laughing too hard to say anything. It took her several tries to be able to get a response out. “Just a diversion or delay tactic or partial protection, I don’t know! I was so nervous, it seemed like a really brilliant idea at the time, especially after you brought the belt with you!”

Still chuckling, John helped Rose sit up, pulling her right on to his lap. “I’ve spanked you before, why are you so nervous?” he asked, kissing her temple. “You know I’d never injure you. Did you need a bit of levity to break up the tension you were feeling?”

“Yeah,” Rose admitted, her face blossoming with color. “I just… I don’t think it’s wrong that you’re doing this,” she began. “But it’s different and I don’t… I don’t…” Letting out a sigh of frustration, Rose fell silent.

“Don’t what?” John cupped her chin in his hand and lifted it so he could look in her in the eye. “Don’t what, love?”

“I don’t want you to see me as lesser for this. Less mature, less responsible, too childish or what have you. I am a woman and I just worry that this will make me lesser in your eyes, more of a burden than a girlfriend and more of a child than a woman,” Rose explained in a hushed tone.

“There is nothing in this world that you could do that would make me think less of you,” John answered, his tone strong and sure. “This isn’t easy, any of it. Taking responsibility for your actions and facing the consequences of them. That’s a very adult thing that everyone struggles with. But you’re brave and intelligent and reasonable and you want to face the consequences and change for the better, don’t you?”

When Rose nodded, he kissed her forehead before continuing on. “This, love, requires bravery and strength and indicates a considerable amount of maturity, to face these kinds of consequences. Frankly, I don’t think there’s anything childish about it and I’m not punishing you like I would a child, because you _are_ a woman and I recognize that. I really think this is the most adult way of thinking, to take responsibility like you are right now. It’s a consequence that I know works for you, I’ve seen it work, and you aren’t telling me ‘no’ right now are you?” If she was, then John would respect that and there would be no spanking. Rose was a woman who knew her own mind and the last thing he ever wanted to do was belittle her or force her to do something she was uncomfortable with.

Slowly Rose shook her head no, that she was not telling him ‘no.’ “If you want to tell me ‘no,’” John said quietly. “Then you can. You always have that right, no matter what, and I won’t be angry with you for it. But if you agree that this works and you want to take responsibility for your actions then we’ll continue on, alright? The choice is yours, my darling girl, and I’ll not pass any judgement for whichever choice you make.”

_And there was the rub_ , Rose thought to herself. She didn’t _want_ to be spanked, but at the same time she knew John was right and she _did_ want to take responsibility. Even she knew that sometimes she couldn’t see reason unless someone provided an alternative perspective, a boundary of what was acceptable and what wasn’t when she was too involved to see the line herself. This time, John was that someone.

“I’m not saying ‘no,’” Rose responded firmly. “I don’t like it, but I’m not saying no because I want to be responsible and make better choices and because I trust you. If you promise that this doesn’t make me a burden to you, then we’ll proceed.”

“You are far from a burden, love, even if I don’t enjoy doing this,” John promised. He caught her lips with his own and kissed her soundly as he held her close. Finally the kiss broke and it was time to get back to business. “Over my knee again Rose. And while all these knickers were rather funny, and a means to an end in terms of our coming to a better understanding, I won’t be happy if I see this should there be a next time, alright?”

“Got it,” Rose agreed, glad he took her little prank so well. Leaving all six pairs of knickers in place, she went over his knee once more.

“I think I’m going to have to spank my way through all these layers,” John announced. “Five smacks per pair and then we’ll do a proper spanking hm?” Without waiting for her agreement, John raised his hand and landed two smacks on her left cheek, two on the right, and one across the center before pulling down the first pair of knickers.

Initially it didn’t seem so bad, but by the time John got down to the last two pairs, Rose could feel the accumulated sting and heat in her bum and began to squirm a bit. John peeled down the last pair of knickers and slipped the whole lot of them right off her feet, as he was certain it would be uncomfortable to have them around her knees for longer than a few minutes. He then inspected Rose’s bum, which was sporting a bright pink; her sit spots and upper thighs, however, were pale and that simply wouldn’t do.

“Alright Rose, no more silliness,” John said seriously. “Time for the real spanking.” He held her a little more firmly around the waist and patted her bum once before he started spanking her yet again. His hand thoroughly smacked her sit spots and upper thighs, landing at random and sometimes landing in a spot more than once! He wasn’t at all surprised that Rose resumed squirming and sniffles were not far behind.

“Ow, ow, ow!” Rose protested. “John please! Oww!” Her protests, very heartfelt and quickly accompanied by tears, did little to deter John it seemed and the heat steadily grew in her backside to a very uncomfortable level.

“I know it hurts,” John told her. He hated to hear her cry and know he was responsible for it, but Rose had most definitely earned this. “Next time you think about taking a gamble with your health, think about this and decide if it’s really worth getting soundly smacked or not.” By now her cheeks, sit spots, and upper thighs were well reddened and still he spanked on, determined to make this a very memorable spanking.

“Owwww! John, I’m sorry! Please stop!” Rose begged through her tears. “I’ll be good, I won’t do it again! Ow! Ouch!” Her exclamations of displeasure fell on deaf ears and, unable to squirm and wriggle her bum out of the way, Rose’s hand went back to try and interfere.

John easily caught her hand and held it in his own at her side. “No, none of that. I’ll hold your hand, but you’re going to take your spanking Rosenwyn. You earned it, you agreed to it, you’ll take it. There’s no point in doing this if it’s not done right.” Ignoring her pleas and tears, he thoroughly spanked every inch of skin until it was flushed a dark red from the crest of her cheeks to halfway down her thighs.

Tears turned into sobs as John spanked on, making Rose feel as if the spanking would never end. Finally it did, and she could feel him rest his hand on her hot, stinging bottom and still she cried. “No more, no more, no more,” Rose pleaded, knowing the belt was still sitting on the bed. “I’ll be good, I’ll take care of myself, I promise!” she wailed.  “I don’t want any more spanking!”

“Shhh,” John soothed, moving his hand to rub her back gently. “I know it hurts love, and you’re being so brave. I’m so proud of you. We’ll take a minute before I use the belt, so you can try and calm down. I won’t use it much,” he promised when Rose let out a wail at the very mention of it. Taking another minute, John spoke softly and soothing towards her, almost cooing the words in an effort to calm her. He let her cry and waited for her breathing to even out. It was downright heartbreaking to listen to her sob; he was a doctor, he was supposed to soothe pain, not cause it. The moment he spent comforting her was also spent mentally bolstering his determination to finish the spanking as planned.

When Rose calmed some and her breathing had returned to normal, she looked over her shoulder at John. “Do we have to?” She sighed sadly when he nodded, indicating they did. “You’ll be careful, right? I’m sort of small and I don’t want the belt to wrap round my hip because that really, really hurts.” She ignored the silent question John asked by quirking his eyebrow at her.

“I’ll be very careful love,” John promised. He reached for the belt and folded it over in his hands so that the buckle was tucked safely away and all that was left was a short strap. “See?” he said, showing it to her, trying to ease her concern. “Buckle well hidden away and just a short bit for smacking. Ready to get it done, love?” When she nodded, he leaned over and kissed the back of her head. “Good girl,” John praised.

Raising his knee a bit, John lined the strap up with her bottom, resting it against the hot skin before raising the belt and bringing it down with a snap across the crest of her cheeks. It left a vivid red bar in its wake that stood out darker in color than the rest of her bottom. That didn’t bother him nearly so much as the pitiful wail that Rose let out.

Rose tried to brace herself for the intense sting that the belt would cause but there was no real bracing for something like that. She yelped and then wailed as the leather struck her cheeks, the sting sharp and biting. Her tears returned in full force and only grew louder when the belt fell another two times, slowly working its way down her bottom.

John planned on giving her ten strokes and made it halfway before Rose buried her face in the pillow. He was certain his heart broke when he saw that. The pillow couldn’t hide her frantic sobbing and he closed his eyes for several seconds to steel himself to go on. “One more love,” John said. He was glad he hadn’t told her the number he’d planned to give her, otherwise it would look like he couldn’t follow through. John raised the belt one more time and let it fall with another snap across her lower cheeks. The fractured wail that followed the stroke confirmed that John had made the right choice to stop now and not go on.

“All done,” John said, letting the belt fall to the floor. “All done Rose. You’ll be alright.” He began to rub her back again, not expecting her to respond to his words of comfort. “I love you Rose, I’m so proud of you. Such a brave girl,” he intoned. After a moment or so, he carefully lifted Rose up and held her right side up on his lap, letting her bottom hang between his knees. “Shh, shhh,” he murmured into her ear as he began to rock her in his arms. “It’s alright, you’ll be alright.”

Rose clung to him when he gathered her in his arms, pressing her face to his shoulder. Her tears fell on his shirt as John’s strong arms held her tight, rocking her slowly from side to side. The movement was calming and soothing and so was his voice. While John largely repeated variations of the same comments over and over again, it was in the right tone and, in combination with the rocking, was precisely what she needed to hear.

“Such a good girl,” John murmured, kissing her hair. “I love you Rose. I just want you safe, always. It’s alright, you’ll be alright. Shhh.” The gentle ministrations continued for several minutes until Rose’s tears had become mere sniffles. John tenderly brushed away the last of her tears with the pad of his thumb before kissing her forehead. “Alright?”

“Well, I’m alive at any rate,” Rose replied, managing a tiny smile for him. “Hurts, a lot. And don’t bother telling me that’s the whole point because, believe me, I know.”

“I brought the arnica cream, are you ready for some?” John chuckled when she nodded eagerly. “Back over my lap then and I’ll put some on.” He caught her lips with his and kissed Rose before letting her up. He reached for the jar of cream and then helped Rose over his lap, flipping up her dress once more. Unable to stop himself, John winced before scooping a generous amount of cream from the jar. “Looks very sore, love,” he admitted. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.” Slowly and carefully he applied the cream to her bottom, sit spots and upper thighs; every little whimper and whine Rose made during that process making him feel badly.

Finally, he finished and capped the jar, helping Rose up from his lap. “I’m going to wash my hands. Why don’t you get into something more comfortable and we’ll cuddle on your bed, alright?”

“Are you staying?” Rose asked softly. She moved towards her dresser and opened a drawer, searching for a nightshirt. After a moment she located the Cinderella nightshirt she was looking for, which fell to mid-thigh so her modesty would be preserved without her having to put any knickers back on for the night.

“Do you want me to?” John asked. He smiled when she nodded.

“Yeah, but take that--” Rose pointed at his belt on the floor. “Back to where it belongs. And then come straight back.”

John kissed the top of her head before grabbing the belt and disappearing from the bedroom. By the time he returned, dressed for bed, he found Rose already snuggled up under the covers. He turned off all but the bedside lamp and joined her. John held an arm out for Rose to cuddle close and wrapped it around her when she did.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke, they merely held on to one another. Finally, though, Rose broke the silence. “I am sorry you know.”

“I know, darling girl,” John murmured. “And I know you’ll do better from now on, too. We don’t have to talk about it anymore.” He began to gently stroke her hair, very relieved to hold her without the tears. “I love you,” he whispered into her hair.

“I love you too,” Rose murmured, truly meaning it. Again they fell silent for a few moments and just held on to one another, enjoying the quiet and the feeling of holding each other closely.

Eventually though, John reached to turn off the lamp beside the bed, bathing the room in darkness. He sighed happily, earning a strange look from Rose.

“Can I ask you something?” John asked, resting his cheek on top of her head.

“Mmhm, anything.”

“How do you live in a room that’s so… _pink_?”

Rose burst into giggles and laughed until her eyes teared up.

 


	13. Driving in Cars with Holmeses

Mycroft Holmes raised his eyes to the heavens. It was mid-afternoon on a Saturday and he’d specifically made an appointment with Rose to begin her hours behind the wheel towards her driving license. He’d been waiting for her, standing outside his car no less, for fifteen minutes. Not only was she late, but she came _dancing_ out of the studio towards his car, iPod in hand undoubtedly blaring music through her earbuds.

Rose came to a stop when she bumped into the car, flashing a smile in Mycroft’s direction. It was quickly replaced with a sigh as Mycroft tapped the watch on his wrist. “I hopped in the shower for your benefit Mycroft. After all, cars are small and I’ve been dancing vigorously for the past six hours. Think about how much more annoyed you’d be if I smelled horrid for the next couple hours!”

“Unfortunately, you make a good point,” Mycroft decided. “Your company is difficult to bear in the best of circumstances, sister mine. Adding an odor would simply be more than I could stand. After all, my dear, every man has his limits.”

Laughing, Rose shook her head. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m in such a wonderful, gloriously happy and smiling mood today? Surely one as observant as you has noticed the spring in my step and the glow on my face and a host of other things.” She playfully poked Mycroft’s arm as she waited for his response.

“You’re always smiling and it’s obnoxious,” Mycroft retorted with a straight face. He frowned as Rose substituted a fist to playfully punch his arm rather than simply poke it with her finger. “What is it then?”

“I am no longer teaching ballet to the little ones anymore. Instead, we’ve got a whole new group of little ballroom dancers that I will be responsible for in two weeks!” Though she started off speaking in a normal tone, the announcement ended with a squeal that earned her an eye roll from Mycroft. “And you’re taking me to dinner to celebrate, after we put in some of my hours, provided we have not killed one another by that point.”

A genuine smile crossed the eldest Holmes’s face. Rose’s happiness was infectious and if her success with the toddler ballerinas had been any indication, she had the makings of a fine teacher and would send her new pupils into the dancing world with considerable skill. “That is good news,” Mycroft agreed. “Congratulations Rose. I’m very proud of you.” He groaned a bit as mere seconds later as his arms were filled with his sister without his consent. “Must you fling yourself at me in that manner?”

“Mmhm,” Rose confirmed, hugging him tightly. She held on for a moment or so before stepping away and grinning at her brother once again. “So, shall we? Get on with the driving that is. And then will you take me to dinner?”

“Will you take me to dinner, she says,” Mycroft echoed, shaking his head. “You make it sound as if I have the option to say no. It is only polite to ask me to spend my hard earned money on you, sister mine, rather than dictate it. No one dictates to me, save the Queen.”

“And me, on occasion,” Rose challenged, raising an eyebrow at him. “But I know you’ll never admit it so won’t even try to force you. Seriously though, let’s drive!” She held her hands out for his car keys, grinning brightly at him. Had she been a bit younger, Rose may have even bounced on her toes in excitement!

Mycroft crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow at her. It was the patented ‘absolutely not’ look and rather than see comprehension dawn across his sister’s face, she saw confusion. “No,” he clarified.

Rose blinked, staring at him in utter bewilderment. “No?” she repeated. Wasn’t driving the whole point of his coming? “Mycroft, I’m really confused. What is ‘no’?”

“You are confused by the meaning of the word ‘no’?” Mycroft retorted, both eyebrows now raised. “Well _that_ certainly explains a great deal over the years.”

“Seriously! What do you mean? That’s what you came here for, for us to put in some of my hours. Why are you here if you didn’t intend to go through with it?” Rose was quickly growing frustrated and it showed in the frown that settled on her features. “I don’t understand.”

Letting out a put-upon sigh, Mycroft pointed at her high heels. “That is ‘no.’ That is not appropriate footwear for a driving lesson. You will wear flat shoes, you will surrender your iPod and mobile, and then we will drive. Not before.”

“It would have been nice to know that _before_ this very moment, Mycroft. I would’ve brought flats with me if I had known you’d have a fit about it. Any other requirements I need to fulfill before I can begin driving?” The youngest Holmes arched an eyebrow at him in a look that resembled Mycroft’s own.

“You could lose the unbecoming attitude you’re displaying,” Mycroft replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “These conditions are for your safety and mine, which I take very seriously. If these terms are not acceptable to you, I suggest you find someone else to assist you in attaining the required practice hours.”

Rose raised her hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright, we’ll do it your way. That means a stop at Baker Street though so I can exchange these shoes for flats.”

Nodding, Mycroft went to the other side of the car and opened the door for Rose, shutting it after she got into the car. He couldn’t help but wonder if he was going to be putting his life into the hands of a complete ill-equipped driver. Rose may say that she had passed an actual driving exam in Luxembourg, but there was always the chance that she had passed by a hairs breadth and was in fact a poor driver. There was only one way to find out…

Twenty-five minutes later, Mycroft found himself waiting for Rose yet again. His foot tapped impatiently on her sitting room floor as he this entire scenario far too reminiscent to Rose’s teen years. “Rosenwyn Holmes, what in god’s name are you doing in there? _Making_ a pair of flat shoes?” he finally called out in the direction of her bedroom door.

“You’ve grown more impatient in your old age,” Rose observed as she opened the door. Not only had she traded her brown buckle heels for a pair of gray flats, she had traded her yellow giraffe sweater and gray skirt for a black and white striped top and wide legged sailor pants. A massive sun hat and sunglasses completed Rose’s look. She struck a dramatic pose in the doorway of her room, letting her shades slide down her nose just a bit. “All right Mr. DeMille,” Rose drawled in her best Norma Desmond impression. “I’m ready for my close-up.” She watched as Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a sigh. Then… he _chuckled_ , before outright laughing.

“Okay it wasn’t _that_ funny,” Rose commented, giving Mycroft a worried look.

“That was a precise rendition of how you introduced your steampunk phase when you were fifteen,” Mycroft explained, still laughing. “Only you look like a decent human being this time round.”

Rose laughed along with him, shaking her head. “You certainly didn’t laugh then!” In fact, now that she thought about it, he’d been downright furious. She won the battle to keep her new clothing, but her bum had paid the price for buying things he wouldn’t approve of and far exceeding the budget he’d given her.

“Well it was not the least bit amusing that you spent two thousand pounds buying whatever it was that you wore during that phase. I refuse to call it clothing because it was not at all that. In fact, the whole of it was not the amount to spend nor the result I intended,” Mycroft reminded her. “It made me wonder if I was doing the wrong thing letting you attend university too young. You were being exposed to all sorts of new and unsavory things and people. That phase made me question your maturity level quite seriously.”

“Well, luckily for you I’m over that now,” Rose said with a smile. “And I changed shoes as requested. Can we drive now?”

“I wasn’t aware changing shoes meant a complete outfit change as well. You look far more suited for Italy than gray, chilly London,” Mycroft pointed out. He mentally noted Rose’s involuntary shiver at the mention of Italy. It didn’t seem chilly in her flat but he couldn’t think of any reason for her to shiver, so for now he filed that bit of information away for later review. “But yes, you’re wearing the appropriate shoes now. Turn over your iPod and mobile, make certain you have your learner’s permit in that cavernous accessory you call your purse.”

Rose tossed her sunglasses and hat onto her coffee table before taking the requested items out of her purse, watching them disappear in various pockets of Mycroft’s overcoat. “I am getting those back, right? Without special tracking devices implanted in them?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Rosenwyn I’ll be in the car with you the entire time, watching you drive and praying we remain accident free throughout today’s exercises. When precisely would I have the time or the opportunity to put anything in your electronic devices?” Mycroft queried. “You’re becoming paranoid.”

“Well, you’re you so that’s not necessarily unfounded paranoia,” Rose reminded him with a stern look.

Mycroft rolled his eye at the look she was giving him. “You’ll get them back without any unwanted additions of any sort. If you’re through interrogating me and have turned over all your electronic devices, I suggest you get your coat on and we’ll be off.”

Thirty minutes into their two hour drive time, Rose was seriously wondering if getting her license was at all worth the hassle. “Mycroft, I swear I will hit you if you touch this steering wheel again,” she ground out through clenched teeth.

“So I should just let you hit the pedestrian or the curb and do nothing to interfere? That’s hardly a sound option Rose. All you need to do is pay attention,” Mycroft lectured. “I’d very much like us to arrive back at the townhouse in one piece with my car undamaged with no charges of vehicular manslaughter along the way.”

“I was five feet from the curb, have stayed well within the lane markers and the people you thought I was destined to hit were twenty yards away! Plenty of time to avoid them by coming to a stop, considering I’m already below the speed limit,” Rose retorted. “And you may want to review your priorities a bit, considering the way you just listed them. My brother, the humanitarian.” She shook her head, unable to keep from laughing softly. Leave it to Mycroft to worry about his car before worrying about the populace at large, aka the goldfish!

\----------------------------------------------------

By the time they pulled into Mycroft’s driveway, Rose wasn’t sure which one of them was more frazzled. One would think that the British Government could manage two hours in the car with her but it appeared to be a rare weak point in Mycroft’s armor. “No offense My, but I think I’ll find someone else to help with my hours.”

An eyebrow rose incredulously. “And just who else would be able to take you?” Mycroft challenged.

“Sherlock’s got a license,” Rose countered with a shrug.

Mycroft scoffed and shook his head. “Sherlock has a license and no car to drive. No rental company will let you practice drive in their car either, whether or not its Sherlock’s name on the paper work. That would be an absolute nightmare for them legally. And you are _completely_ out of your mind if you think I will turn my car over to you and Sherlock.”

With a heavy sigh Rose turned off the car and took the keys from the ignition to hand them back to Mycroft. “Dinner?” she asked with a hopeful tone.

Though he was relieved to have the keys back in his own hand, Mycroft let out a sigh at Rose’s question. “Well, we are still alive and my car is intact. I suppose that _is_ worth celebrating. Now get out of the driver’s seat young lady,” he ordered while gesturing at the door. A smile tugged at his lips as Rose gave him a cheeky salute and practically hopped out of the vehicle with the level of energy only a very active twenty-year-old could muster. “What did you have in mind?”

“Oh, you know. Something expensive I can’t afford on my own.” Rose flashed him a grin as she buckled her seatbelt. “Surprise me brother mine!”

“A surprise it is then,” Mycroft agreed. “Now pay attention to how a good driver drives, will you?” A smile tugged at his lips when Rose snorted indignantly.

A short time later, the siblings found themselves at The Ivy. Rose’s eyes went wide as they found a place to park. “This place is so busy Mycroft are you sure we can get in? And am I even dressed properly?”

“When you mentioned dinner I sent Anthea a text asking her to arrange it. I thought it you’d enjoy it,” Mycroft admitted. “And you look fine. Rose… Rose don’t do that.” He rolled his eyes as Rose tipped the rearview mirror in her direction and was about to scold her when he realized she wasn’t looking at her face. Rather, she was looking at her neck, fingering the scar there. Mycroft watched as she let go of the mirror and reached into her bag for a black fashion scarf.

“It’s hardly visible you know,” Mycroft said quietly as Rose fussed with the scarf. “Only if someone is close by you and has a reason to look there. No one would see it in there poppet.”

Rose gave him a bit of a smile and continued to play with the scarf. “I usually cover it with make-up,” she said softly. She knew he wouldn’t miss the way she avoided looking at him, even as she reached for the rearview mirror once more. “When I’m just practicing or teaching I don’t bother with any, so I always make sure I have a scarf with me. One that will go with just about anything I wear. Even if no one can see it, I still know it’s there.” Finally deciding her scarf was arranged just how she wanted it, Rose let go of the mirror again, her hands folding in her lap for a moment.

“It still hurts sometimes,” Rose whispered.

Mycroft’s eyes went wide with alarm. That was not normal at all! “It what?” he asked with a frown. “That shouldn’t be. It shouldn’t be hurting still. It’s been months.”

Turning to look at him, Rose tried to summon a little smile for him but couldn’t quite seem to. “It doesn’t, not really. But it feels like it does at times. Its phantom pain though, similar to what people who lose a limb experience. They feel as if the limb is still there and hurting but it isn’t.”

The eldest Holmes swallowed hard and tried to think of something comforting and profound to say, especially since it was the first time Rose had ever said anything about it to him. That was his job, after all, to comfort her and offer wisdom. Sadly he had had no preparation in how to assist his baby sister in healing from a violent attack. Part of him was ashamed to admit that he hadn’t thought about her still suffering from it nearly six months later. Perhaps that was because Mycroft didn’t want to think of Rose experiencing PTSD symptoms and thus had acted as if that wasn’t the case, as though doing so would make it so.

“This one is much easier to hide, though I have to alter some of my dance costumes now,” Rose continued, indicating the scar on her chest that was hidden by her clothing. “They both hurt sometimes. When I have nightmares, or when I smell the body spray he used.” She shook her head as if shaking away those thoughts, then tried to smile again. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so melancholy. Should we go in?’

Mycroft found himself wishing they were at the townhouse where he could wrap his arms around her and never let go. Or at least not until her spirits lifted a bit and she could smile at him again. Unfortunately they were in his car in a restaurant car park. “Don’t apologize,” he said firmly. “If you need to talk about this, then I want you to do so. If now is that time, so be it. How often do you have nightmares?”

“I used to have them a lot, sometimes every night for a long stretch of time. They’ve got better though, maybe once or twice a week but not more than that.” Rose wisely left out the reason why they had improved of late, namely because she and John shared a bed nearly every night now. She kept him grounded to London, to the present, soothing away the nightmares of war. He kept her safe and loved, banishing her nightmares with his protective and comforting presence.

 “Please don’t infer that this is some sort of nefarious plan to lure you away from Baker Street but… If it would make you feel safer, help with your nightmares, you could move home again. I wouldn’t think less of you for it,” Mycroft said gently. “And you’ll always be welcome, sister mine, even if it was only a short stay.”

Rose turned to look at him, smiling softly. “Mycroft, that is very sweet of you. And also precisely why I bought you Lilibet, so you wouldn’t be lonely.” She grinned brightly as he began to sputter.

Mycroft shook his head. “Rosenwyn Aramantha I am _not_ lonely! Please cease and desist your fanciful imaginings, you impertinent child.”

She giggled and leaned across the seat to kiss his cheek. “I do love you, you know. Even when you’re silly. I’m alright for now though; promise. You’ll be the first I tell if that ever changes, My.”

Not entirely convinced that she was in fact alright, Mycroft’s eyes searched Rose’s though he wasn’t sure what exactly he was looking for. Fear, anxiety, signs of deception. Whatever it was he didn’t find it there. Then it hit him—John; she had John. She had John and no longer needed him to check for monsters under her bed and kiss away tears when she had bad dreams. The realization of it hit Mycroft rather hard, almost painfully in fact. A wistful look entered his eye and Mycroft watched Rose pause and tilt her head to the side as she examined him. _As observant as ever_ , he thought. _Just as I taught her to be_.

“My? Are you okay? You… you almost look sad right now. Did I hurt your feelings?” she asked, her brows furrowed with concern. Though if she had hurt his feelings by refusing his invitation to move home, Rose had no idea how she could make it better because she didn’t want to leave Baker Street and the cozy home she, John and Sherlock somehow made together.

Forcing himself to smile convincingly, Mycroft nodded. “Of course not Poppet. I was merely thinking about how grown up you are, and lamenting about how old that makes me feel. Now, if you’re ready, we’ll go inside and claim our reservation. You can tell me all about your plans for your new students.”

\--------------------------------------------

“Please be advised that we will not be leaving here until I get a peppermint ice cream sandwich,” Rose warned before sipping at her cappuccino.

“Always you and the caffeine,” Mycroft replied, shaking his head. “It’s as if you aren’t even British, Rose.”

“The vodka in your glass isn’t British either.” She raised her eyebrows in silent challenge as she continued to examine the menu. The Cornish crab bisque had been an amazing starter and if it wouldn’t offend the chef- and probably Mycroft- Rose would be seriously tempted to just as for more of it rather than a main dish.  “We need to come here more often, by the way. I could easily come daily for that bisque.”

“And bankrupt me in the process.” Mycroft made his decision, ordering the Thai seabass. “Next time, you and I will split the Devonshire chicken for two,” he told Rose. A small smile escaped as she flashed him a bright grin, clearly pleased to know they would come back again sometime. After how anxious and serious she’d been in the car just before dinner, he was about ready to promise her the moon and stars if it would make her smile. Thankfully, all Rose required was a bit of spoiling with fancy meals.

“I’ll do the Ivy hamburger with fried egg and I’ll skip the _pommes allumettes_ , please.” Rose didn’t miss the surprised look on their waiter’s face and offered him a smile. “For now? If I’m going to have room for dessert I think it may come at their expense and an ice cream sandwich wouldn’t last long enough to take home. Could I please have them delivered just before we leave? Then I can snack on them at home and they won’t go to waste _and_ I still get dessert!” The delight on her face at having solved the conundrum of her fancy fries was infectious.

The waiter chuckled and returned her smile. “You have it all planned out I see. I’ll let the chef know, I’m sure he’ll be happy to accommodate you, miss.” Taking their menus, the waiter disappeared to put in the orders for their main dish.

“Well done,” Mycroft said quietly, feeling proud of how deftly Rose had managed that. “I applaud your effort to not waste food and yet somehow not insult the staff or chef. I’m certain Sherlock will enjoy your _pommes allumettes_.”

“Don’t look so smug, brother mine,” Rose murmured. “It’s completely abhorrent and quite unbecoming for your face.” With a wink, she reached for her cappuccino and took a sip. This… _this_ … was just like old times and Rose couldn’t be happier.

\--------------------------------------------------

It was the end of a long week and an even longer day for John Watson. Day was rather a loosely defined term in this case, John thought to himself as he trudged up the stairs to 221B. It had really started the night before when a case had come up just before 3am.

Early that morning he and Sherlock had been on the hunt for a man whom they suspected was the perpetrator of several robberies who had just elevated his crime level to include the homicide of an elderly couple at the latest break in. Time was of the essence and they were still working the case at just past 8am when John’s mobile rang.

“No, now’s not a good time, try Richards,” he told the nurse at a nearby hospital. “You’ve tried everyone? Seriously? And the diagnosis is what again?” John cursed at the answer she gave. “Alright, alright, I’m on my way. I’ll be there in twenty minutes, have everything ready to go.”

“Go? Where are you going?” Sherlock asked, looking up from his microscope. “I need you to go through that surveillance footage, you’re sharper than Lestrade’s lot are. Better at reading body language. Our killer could be captured on that video John and we need to know!”

“I know, I know,” John responded with a heavy sigh. “Look, there’s a little boy who needs emergency surgery and it won’t wait for me to finish examining that footage. No, don’t start with me,” John said when Sherlock opened his mouth to protest. “Someone is going to die if I don’t go.”

“Someone else may die if you _do_ go!” Sherlock replied loudly.

“Well, they’ve got you and this little boy doesn’t have anyone, so let’s hope for the best on both sides, alright? Good luck Sherlock. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.” With that said, John left for the hospital.

What should have only been a surgery lasting a few hours turned out to be much more complicated and before John knew it he’d been in surgery for six hours and car crash victims delayed his leaving yet again. With most of the emergency staff out with the flu, there was nothing for it and John made it through the day as best he could.

Now, umpteen hours later, all John wanted was a cup of tea and John Watson was not a man whose cup of tea one should ever trifle with. He toed off his shoes and headed for the kitchen, his eyes falling on the tea kettle. As he picked it up, John immediately caught the stench of something foul. After debating for a few seconds whether or not he wanted to find out what was inside, John finally lifted the lid and peered inside. What looked like congealed blood was lying thick inside the kettle, but then again, it was rather black looking so perhaps not blood at all. That did not make the very tired doctor feel any better.    “SHERLOCK! How many times have I told you to leave the bloody tea kettle alone? What the _hell_ is this?” John thundered at his flat mate, holding the kettle out in Sherlock’s direction.

Just as John began to raise his voice, Rose entered the flat. She had only just got home from her dinner with Mycroft and hadn’t missed the sound of raised voices as she climbed the stairs. Upon hearing what the issue was, Rose immediately turned around and exited, only to come back just a few moments later, bearing her own tea kettle. She frowned at the men as they continued to bicker, uncertain if they just needed to have their row and get over it or if she should intervene.

“You did this on purpose! Just so I couldn’t have my tea when I came home because you were angry that I left! It wasn’t my fault I couldn’t stay on the case with you. But those people needed my help Sherlock, and I’m a doctor, I heal people that need it and they needed me to be a doctor and not a crime solver!”

“ _I_ needed your help,” Sherlock retorted, gritting his teeth. “And you deprived me of it!” He brought his fists down hard on the table. His childish display, while momentarily making him feel good, backfired almost immediately. He watched as John’s eyebrows went skyward and the irate doctor slammed the beloved kettle onto the counter before placing his hands on his hips. Instinctively, Sherlock took a little step back, realizing he’d pushed a bit too far this time. One of these days he’d realize John was at his limit before pushing him over it, Sherlock reflected. Perhaps he could conduct an experiment to find that thin line between crabby John Watson and looking-like-he-wants-to-break-every-bone-in-my-body John Watson.

“No, you did not need my help, you wanted someone to show off to and tell you how brilliant you are!” John accused, pointing at finger at Sherlock as he slowly advanced on the younger man. “Other people exist in this world Sherlock and sometimes their needs are far greater than your own. How would you like it if some other doctor didn’t answer his mobile and respond to an emergency when it was Rose needing his help?”

Rolling her eyes, Rose could see this escalating rather quickly if she didn’t intervene and ending with John storming off to the pub and Sherlock pouting for hours. Without a second of hesitation she stepped between the two arguing men, placing a hand on each of their chests- or rather a teapot in John’s case- to further separate them while fixing both with an evil eye. “Gentlemen, this is unnecessary. Sherlock, you will not do disgusting things to the tea kettle just because you’re disgruntled at John. And John, there’s no need to shout, you can always borrow mine even if I’m not around.”

Though the men glared at each other a moment longer, they did back down- and away- from one another. Shaking her head, Rose looked at John with a fond smile. “You are a very grumpy man when you’re deprived of your tea,” she commented, arching an eyebrow at him. “Luckily for you, I brought my nice clean teapot with me when I popped over here. Get comfortable, settle, and I’ll have some tea for you in just a moment.”

Once the tea was going, Rose turned to Sherlock and raised both eyebrows at him. “The teapot?” she asked quietly. “You had to put it in the teapot? The one material item John loves more than any other? Leave it be, alright, for my sake, alright? Please?” She gave her big brother a pleading look and was rewarded with a nod. “Good. I love you.” Rose stood up on her toes to kiss Sherlock’s cheek.

“Where have you been all day?” Sherlock asked as he watched Rose moving around the kitchen. First it was finding the tea and making sure a cup was clean, then opening the cupboard and jumping up to reach a box of hobnobs on the top shelf… and missing. “You could ask,” he pointed out, reaching for the box.

Rose smiled as she took the box. “Thank you. Buy me a step stool, will you?” she gently nudged his ribs with her elbow before reaching for some small plates. “I’ve been home a while, didn’t you notice? I brought my _pommes allumettes_ home from the Ivy and set them down by you a couple hours ago.”

“Ah!” Sherlock said, giving her a curt nod. “I saw those and wasn’t sure where they’d come from. They were delicious by the way.”

His baby sister stopped to look at him, her eyes wide with abject horror. “Sherlock… I get maybe not seeing me, or maybe not hearing me, since I did go back to my flat because you were doing icky things. But you realize food doesn’t just _appear_ right? In fancy containers with a hand-drawn heart on it? Give me a sign, brother mine, that you’re fine.” Rose let out a laugh at the unintentional rhyming before sobering once more. “Seriously though, how did your brilliant mind explain its appearance?”

Sherlock shrugged. “It just sort of happened. Just like my tea in the mornings when John is off doing boring things.”

“Oh for god sakes Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson brings you tea those mornings because she worries about you and takes pity on you,” Rose responded, shaking her head. “Your morning tea does not come via the tea fairy, nor does any other drink or edible item.” Her eyes narrowed for a moment as she scrutinized his face, reaching for his collar to pull his head down closer.

“What? What are you looking at? Do I have something “icky” on me, or are you still trying to process the fact that I don’t give a damn how my tea appears, so long as it does?” Sherlock asked, scowling darkly as he batted her hands away.

“Oh no, well past that,” Rose assured him with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’m trying to figure out now which of us is the grown up, because I’m not sure anymore. Sort of a problem if you’re the one supposedly still “raising” me, yeah?”

Rather than respond verbally, at least initially, Sherlock reached out and lightly smacked her thigh. “Behave. And keep that sort of musing to yourself. God knows neither of us need Mycroft around here more often than he already is. Which is completely your fault by the way,” Sherlock pointed out. “So other than clearly getting dinner somewhere, what have you been up to? Making mischief?”

“I practiced today with Alfred, the competition is almost here! And then did some of my driving hours with Mycroft.” She made a gagging noise, emblematic of the entire experience to be sure.

“Went that well, hm?” Sherlock had anticipated as much. The two of them in the car sounded like a proper nightmare. “Did he survive or did you dump him alongside the road somewhere?”

“Of course I didn’t,” Rose giggled. “Though I certainly did think about it at least thirty times. I don’t think I can go through that again with My or I really will dump him somewhere. Grabbing at the wheel and shouting, all over utter nonsense. I’ve no idea what I’ll do now to get my hours in before I can test. None of my friends here have vehicles.” She carefully poured the now-ready tea into three mugs, and moved each to its own plate. A few hobnobs were added to the plates before she fixed John’s just the way he liked it, then her own. “This one’s for you,” Rose told Sherlock, indicating the remaining plate on the counter.

“I’ll see if I can get a car from somewhere,” Sherlock commented as she left the kitchen. “Then you can log your hours with me.”

Rose stopped in her tracks and turned to give Sherlock a stern look. “Not stolen Sherlock. Promise?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and nodded, looking slightly affronted that she’d even say such a thing. Not that he wouldn’t steal if necessary, but the last thing he would do was get Rose involved in something like that. Mycroft would have _both_ their heads.

Having Sherlock’s promise, Rose continued into the sitting room, going straight to John. “Hello you,” she murmured, holding out a plate with the mug and biscuits. “Fancy seeing you here. Come here often?” She wiggled her eyebrows at him, drawing a smile from the tired doctor.

“I do, though I can’t always remember why,” John chuckled. “Hello to you too.” He took the plate from her and set it aside, then reached for Rose’s to do the same. With the hot beverages out of the way, he tugged Rose onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her closer and didn’t stop until their noses touched. John closed his eyes, inhaling the light scent of her perfume, wondering when it had come to smell like home. “I’m trying to decide if you’re the calm before the storm,” he murmured, indicating Sherlock. “Or if you’re the angel of mercy. Any thoughts?” John opened his eyes and looked into Rose’s.

“Considering I brought you tea, and how very much you love your tea, I’d opt for angel of mercy,” Rose said quietly, letting out a sigh of contentment.

John opened his eyes and smiled at her, eyes full of tenderness. “You’re gorgeous, whatever you are,” he decided. “And very nice to come home to, regardless of the fact that your brother is bonkers enough to mess with my tea.”

Rose laughed softly, unable to disagree with that assessment, then touched John’s lips with her own, as softly as a whisper. John needed little further prompting to respond in kind, moving his mouth over hers, kissing her slowly and softly at first, then more insistently. Finally he broke away, only so they could breathe, then kissed her nose, making Rose laugh again.

“You’re very good at this,” she murmured, moving closer to John in order to dot kisses along his jawline. “Too good in fact.”

“Glad to hear it,” John replied, his breath tickling her skin. He turned his head and nipped lightly at her earlobe, unable to keep from grinning when it drew a tiny squeak of surprise from her. Inexplicably, Rose began to pull away, making John frown and follow her gaze.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rose had caught a flash of movement that could only be attributed to her brother. Wondering what was making him move so quickly, not to mention tear him away from his work, Rose turned her head just in time to see Sherlock grab a notebook from his desk and begin to scribble in it. As soon as he realized she was looking, Sherlock shut the notebook with a snap.

“Huh uh,” Rose said firmly. “You’re not just going to close that up because I’m looking now. What are you doing?” When Sherlock rolled his eyes, Rose quirked an eyebrow at him. “Sherlock, I’m serious. What were you doing? Were you taking notes on us?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Sherlock snapped. He tucked the notebook under his arm and attempted to cross the room to lock it away in his bedroom before Rose could snatch it from him.

“Oh no, no you don’t! I want to see that now!” Rose retorted, following Sherlock as he attempted to make an escape with the notebook. “Give that to me! You’re taking notes on me and I want to know what they are!”

Rolling his eyes, John reached for his tea and began to sip at it. Rose and Sherlock was somehow equal parts ridiculous, amusing, and utterly infuriating at the same time. He watched as Rose darted after Sherlock, easily able to slide around and in front of him, grabbing at the notebook. “If you two make me spill my tea, so help me I’ll--” Had they been paying even the least bit of attention to him, John would have made a threat, but it was clear the siblings were in their own little rambunctious universe at the moment. Plus, John wasn’t entirely sure what sort of threat might have been taken seriously by either of them.

Sherlock led her on a merry chase throughout the main floor of 221B for a few moments, more than able to keep the notebook high enough she couldn’t reach it, until finally Rose jumped at him. “No! Rose, no! Don’t!” Sherlock ordered.

Naturally, she didn’t listen and Sherlock reacted instinctively by tossing the notebook aside and trying to catch her- try being the operative word. Unable to accommodate catching and holding Rose on just a few second’s notice, she effectively tackled him to the floor where Sherlock landed with a mighty _thud_ on the floor, with his baby sister coming to straddle his stomach. Sherlock lay there, gasping to regain the air knocked out of his lungs, and watched with a scowl as Rose easily got up and retrieved the notebook.

John watched the two siblings, narrowing his eyes at them. “You two play too hard sometimes,” he cautioned them, shaking his head. “Is it really necessary? You could really hurt her Sherlock

“Terribly necessary. I grew up with two brothers, remember? Tussles weren’t exactly out of the ordinary.” Rose paused and frowned in thought. “Alright, actually Sherlock and I always played hard, Mycroft never did, he merely shouted about it. Still does.” Giving her boyfriend a shrug, Rose opened the notebook and began to examine it. Initially it seemed like nonsense, but the longer she stared at it, the more sense it seemed to make. It was some type of code and within just a few minutes, during which time Sherlock attempted to regain the air that had been knocked out of him, Rose had cracked it.

Sherlock was making detailed records of how, when, how often, and how long she and John kissed. Had it been anyone else, Rose would happily break their nose and think nothing of it. But this was Sherlock, and Sherlock was… well… Sherlock. “This,” Rose said, holding the notebook out. “Is not okay. John and I are not an experiment. This is not something to collect data on. It’s _hurtful_ and invasive, Sherlock.”

Her brother had the good sense to look a bit ashamed of himself, the tips of his ears going pink. “I wasn’t trying--”

“I know,” Rose said gently. “You weren’t trying to be invasive, you were simply doing what you do best: collecting data. But this isn’t okay data to collect, at least not from me, alright?” As Sherlock got up from the floor, having caught his breath once more, Rose crossed the room and handed him back the notebook. “No more, for me. Please?” She gave him a hopeful look and rewarded Sherlock with a hug when he reluctantly agreed.

“It would be less tempting if you two weren’t doing that here all the time. You do have a flat of your own, though I don’t seem to find you using it that often these days,” Sherlock pointed out. Despite being a bit dejected at his valid data collection now more or less forbidden, he wrapped his arms around Rose and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“That’s not my fault, blame John,” Rose replied. She made no attempt to let go of him just yet, enjoying the cuddle from her big brother. It had always been one of the things he was good at, just for her, and only with her.

John laughed loudly and shook his head. “How is it _my_ fault? Come explain that to me,” he decided, feigning a stern look while crooking his finger at her. “Over here miss and enlighten me as to your logic.”

Rose abandoned her brother and sauntered across the room towards John, stopping to retrieve her tea before helping herself to his lap. “You, sir, don’t scare me in the slightest,” she announced, giving him a stern look, not unlike one Mycroft would give.

“Then I’m afraid that you aren’t very bright,” John said, a teasing twinkle in his eye. “Because I should certainly frighten you.” He waggled his eyebrows at her teasingly before sipping at his tea.

“Mmm, yes you’re very scary dearest.” Rose nestled closer to him and pressed a kiss to his lips… as soon as the tea cup moved that is.

“See?!” Sherlock shouted in an accusatory tone. “This is exactly what I mean! You’re both always doing that! How am I not supposed to want to collect the data of what is happening quite literally all over _my_ flat? Honestly Rose, I can only take so much you know.”

Rose sighed and turned to look in Sherlock’s direction. “It’s truly not my fault! John hates my room!”

The man in question blinked and frowned. “I do?”

“You do. You’re always complaining about how it’s ‘so damn pink’ and that you feel like you’re ‘sleeping in a cupcake’,” Rose replied. “On and on and on you go about it.” That was a wee bit of an exaggeration, but she did love teasing him so, especially about his dislike of her bedroom color. “But we should move next door and give my poor beleaguered brother a break from us.”

John downed the last of his tea then gave Sherlock an appraising look before nodding. “Alright love, go on over and I’ll be there after I get some things from my room, yeah?” He pressed a chaste kiss to her nose before nudging her up from his lap.

_Ninety Minutes Later_

“It really is like sleeping in a cupcake you know,” John murmured as they were about to turn off the lights in Rose’s bedroom.

“Isn’t that sort of charming though?” Rose countered. “I mean, haven’t you always wanted to sleep in a cupcake?”

John, who had been about to lie down on the pillow, sat back up and gave her an incredulous look. “No… I’m a soldier, that’s not allowed,” he pointed out. “Have _you_ always wanted to sleep in a cupcake?”

Rose nodded, grinning at the disbelief on his face. “Why not? It’s very lovely and fantastical sounding. People dream about sleeping under the stars, in trees, in castles. Why not a cupcake?”

“Because it’s _bonkers_ and so are you for that matter. Now go the fuck to sleep, you,” John half-growled. He grinned when Rose giggled madly at him, then put a large hand to her waist, drawing her close to him before wrapping his arm around her midriff to hold her snugly all through the night.

\----------------------------------------------------

“I don’t know what Mycroft is so worried about,” Sherlock commented. They were twenty minutes into her second attempt at supervised driving the following Friday and thus far Rose had done everything just right. She used her turn signals, she looked over her shoulder, and drove defensively while scanning the cars around her to anticipate their movements. “Were you doing this well with him? He made it sound as though you were attempting to drag race in London and it was only by some major miracle that you both survived.”

In the driver’s seat, Rose rolled her eyes. “And he accuses _us_ of being dramatic. The only time we were in danger is when he was shouting “Rosenwyn there’s a pedestrian there!” and grabbing at the wheel when I was two intersections away. He was also intensely fearful that I would hit parked cars and drive up onto the curb. Where he got those ideas from I don’t know.”

“I cannot believe I’m about to say this and defend him,” Sherlock admitted in a bewildered tone. “But you _did_ hit some parked cars that one time so perhaps he’s somewhat justified in that fear at least. Just a bit.”

Rose pinned her brother with a side-eye look. “That was completely not my fault. He left me in the car with it running!” she huffed. “How was I supposed to resist climbing into the front seat and looking at everything?”

Sherlock turned a perplexed look on his sister. “You do realize that leaving you in the car wasn’t actually an invitation to then drive it, correct? Are you seriously blaming _Mycroft_ for the fact that you drove the car and hit two parked cars in the street?”

“I’m a Holmes, Sherlock. That should have been all the information Mycroft needed to know in order to come to the conclusion that I shouldn’t be left alone in a running car. He survived you after all, you’d think he picked up some skills in the process of doing so,” Rose pointed out. “In any case, I simply forgot about gravity for a second and then I was just rolling down the driveway and events transpired.” She shrugged her shoulders as if that explanation somehow made perfect sense.

Her brother could only gape at her for a long moment, simultaneously in awe of and horrified by his baby sister. “If ‘I forgot about gravity and events transpired’ was the only excuse you gave Mycroft it’s no wonder you got the smacking of your life,” Sherlock replied. “I’m almost sad I missed that while I was at school. Not the smacking part,” he clarified when Rose glowered at him. “But your attempt to explain yourself to Mycroft.”

Sherlock could practically envision it in his mind’s eye, a teary-eyed yet angry little five year old shouting at a furious Mycroft that not only was it _his_ fault but _events_ had _transpired_! Having arrived home an hour or so after the incident, Sherlock had missed the hoopla but not the call for cuddles from the ‘nice’ brother. A much subdued Rose had followed him around like a shadow the rest of the day, bursting into tears every time she saw Mycroft.

“Alright, alright, so we had a bad go at my very first driving attempt eons ago,” Rose admitted. “Thankfully I’ve improved immensely in the fifteen years since then. Besides, rumor has it Mycroft had a go at driving the car himself and did far worse at it then I did!”

“Rumor has it?” Sherlock asked. “Who’s spreading rumors like that about Mycroft?”

“Well no one really, but Mother commented to Mycroft that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. And, at bedtime that night, she said I wasn’t the first little Holmes to want to drive far too early. I’ve never got a satisfactory explanation of what that meant,” Rose admitted. “But I certainly know what it implies.”

Sherlock smirked gleefully at the implications of such remarks. How he loved stories about Mycroft being less than perfect! Growing up, Sherlock swore that Mycroft must have been the best child that ever lived, rendering himself some sort of monstrous child that was forever getting into trouble. It always delighted him to hear that Mycroft had not been perfect after all. “That sounds like a theory worthy of an investigation…”

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 “How are the driving lessons going?” the Queen asked while watching Mycroft pack up his briefcase.

Mycroft looked up at her, quirking an eyebrow. “Moving on to none business topics then, are we?” He took a moment to lock the briefcase before responding and smiled politely when the Queen handed him a fresh cup of tea. “They are… going,” he said at length, sounding quite put upon. “She worries me when she drives and then fusses at me when I make corrections. That’s what I’m supposed to do as the licensed driver overseeing her practice hours, tell her when she’s gone wrong and fix it.”

The Queen chuckled. “It could be worse, you know. She could be driving in a war-torn London like I did in my 20s. Considerably more danger there than she’ll find these days on a London street, provided she avoids the pedestrians.”

A thoughtful look crossed Mycroft’s face as he sipped his tea and processed her Majesty’s words. “That’s quite true I suppose. Somehow I think Rose would have found it a grand adventure and run away from home to become a battlefield nurse. She’s particularly irrepressible.”

“Perhaps she might have. She’s an ambitious girl and might have wanted to make a difference or been swept up in the romance of war and young men in uniform and all that. Then again, for Rose to be alive at that juncture would mean you were as well. How would you have handled world wars, Mycroft? I hear it all the time that they were inevitable. Do you agree?” Having lived through the war and been part of it, the Queen was quite interested in hearing Mycroft’s take on that theory.

Mycroft scoffed and shook his head. “No good historian will tell you that something was inevitable. It is simply a set of circumstances with multiple outcomes that were possible. Any number of factors along the way could have changed things. Hitler getting into art school, for example,” he posited. “Think how that would change the variables. As for myself, I’d like to think I’d have done a better job of things.” He raised an eyebrow when the Queen began to chuckle.

“Less appeasement in the early days, certainly, but what if other factors were changed along the way? The Archduke of Austria for instance, one of the most botched assassination plans in history, perhaps could be prevented. But if that factor changes and he and his wife live, that does nothing to solve matter within Austria-Hungary itself. History is far too complex to boil down to inevitabilities and its far easier to find mistakes in hindsight then it is in the moment,” Mycroft added. “I’d like to think I’d have prevented the wars in some way, or at least kept Britain out of it, but one can never tell.”

“Churchill did well. I think everyone did what they thought best, even when it turned out not to be,” the Queen responded. “Such is the nature of war. Luckily we have you now.” She smiled genuinely as she said this. “Well versed in every possible thing that might become a factor at any time in any problem. You’d best not die, Mycroft. Put some of that brain power to finding a way to preserve yourself for all eternity,” she teased.

Just as Mycroft was about to respond, his mobile vibrated in his pocket.

“Must be Anthea,” the Queen surmised. “She’s a lovely girl, you should bring her round next time Mycroft. Though I suppose she’s holding down the fort, as the saying goes. Have you ever thought about that?”

Mycroft gave her a quizzical look. “Thought about what? Do you mind?” he added, retrieving his mobile. When the queen nodded her permission, Mycroft responded to a few text messages from Anthea as they continued to chat.

“Anthea! You two make a lovely couple at gatherings. Haven’t you ever thought about a nice dinner without all the trappings of work? You haven’t have you,” the Queen said, answering her own question. She sighed heavily and shook her head.

“Do I exude an air of desperation of late?” Mycroft questioned, giving the queen a quizzical look. “Why is it that people in my life are suddenly concerned that I am lonely or in need of a relationship. Has it not been well established by now that relationships of a personal nature are not my milieu? Besides, I have Cat.”

The queen raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought I christened her Lilibet. Why would you change it?”

“I haven’t. I call her Cat when she’s disobedient. Ruddy little thing, do you know what she did this morning? I wake up, go into my study and there’s the arm of the couch all ripped up and not two feet away is the massive scratching post I just purchased for her to avoid that very thing! So she is most definitely Cat today and I locked her in the loo before I left.”

“With a litter box?” Her Majesty asked, barely suppressing a grin. She chuckled lightly when Mycroft reached for his mobile once more.

Sure enough, Mycroft had left food and water for her, but no litter box. Was there truly no end to the nonsense that cat caused? It was as if Lilibet took after Rose in the level of mischief and problems she caused. That thought actually made him smile just a little as he hurriedly began to text.

‘Anthea, send someone to my house to let out the bloody cat. M’

‘The little monster is in the loo on the first floor. M’

‘Preferably sooner rather than later before she does her business in there. M’

“You’ll get into a routine with her and things will settle,” the Queen assured him. “You’re just not used to sharing your home anymore. Have you ever thought of moving to a smaller place?”

Just as Mycroft finished texting Anthea, a call from her came through.

“Go ahead and take it,” the Queen told him before he could even ask. She poured herself another cup of tea while Mycroft took the call.

Mycroft gave a nod of thanks before answering the call. “Yes, Anthea?” A moment later, his calm demeanor cracked as he replied loudly and angrily, “They _what_?!”

The Queen clicked her tongue and shook her head, quite sympathetic to his troubles without even knowing for sure what they were. She watched with amusement as Mycroft hung up on Anthea and hurriedly placed a call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Readers… It has been far too long, so I’d best start out with an apology. My life has exploded in good chaos since I last updated. I’m entering the final stages of my PhD (studying for comps now!) and have been given some courses to teach on my own, making me a very busy but happy girl! Sadly, it also sucks up far too much time and energy, leaving me little to no time for brainstorming and writing, hence why this chapter has been so long in coming. The story is NOT over and I have no intention of ending it anytime soon, nor will it be abandoned. I ask for your patience with me and my chaotic life. Know that I want to write chapters just as much as you want to read them! I will update as often as I can in the coming months. Thank you for continuing to read, for leaving your wonderful comments and messages, and for being fantastic readers overall! Take care!


	14. Gone Girl

Sherlock’s mobile was buzzing, again. “Someone is trying really hard to get ahold of you,” Rose commented. “Who’s calling? If you’ve got a case on, we can continue another time. Don’t want to deprive you of The Work.” Her offer was accompanied by a smile.

The ID on Sherlock’s mobile read ‘Mycroft’ and he swiped the screen to ignore the call for the seventh time. Eventually Mycroft would give up, surely! And be completely reasonable about the fact that he had borrowed Mycroft’s car. It was for the baby after all! Or at least Sherlock hoped that would be the case. “Nothing like that,” he assured his baby sister. “It can wait.”

Rose hummed in response. “If you’re sure. I really appreciate this, you know. You’re so much easier to drive with than Mycroft. It makes a person nervous when the man sitting next to you is constantly worried you’ll crash and die.” She smiled and shook her head, not at all surprised Mycroft had been so uptight last time.

“Good! That’s the point after all, to make you feel comfortable and get the practice in so you can take your driving exam.” As they talked, Sherlock kept one eye on the road and the other on his mobile, swiping to decline answering an eighth call. Then, it seemed, Mycroft had given up as Sherlock’s mobile stopped vibrating incessantly with repeated calls. Sherlock let out a little sigh of relief at the silence. The silence didn’t last very long though. Just a few moments later, Wagner’s ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ could be heard from Rose’s mobile in her purse. “Whose ringtone is that?” he asked, hoping against hope it was not Mycroft’s.

“My’s. Seemed rather appropriate,” Rose said, flashing him a cheeky grin. “It used to be Foreigner’s ‘Cold As Ice,’ which I thought was hilariously fitting. My thought otherwise. He told me it was rude and to change it at once. I just didn’t bother to tell him what I changed it to! Never any fun, our big brother. He can leave a voicemail and I’ll call him back when we’re finished.” At the moment, she was focused on driving and intended to stay that way!

\----------------------------------------------------------

Back at Buckingham Palace, Mycroft deigned not to leave a message and began calling Rose’s mobile as incessantly as he’d called Sherlock’s. Rose, at least, would know it was in her best interest to answer it. Or perhaps they were trying to come up with a story about how exactly they thought to take his car without him ever noticing!

As he paced the room and continued making calls, the Queen continued to drink her tea, finding the entire situation incredibly amusing.

“If they scratch that car…” Mycroft growled to himself as he dialed again.

\-----------------------------------------------------

“Mycroft seems particularly insistent. Is that who was calling you?” Rose asked as her mobile went off for the sixth time. There wasn’t time for Sherlock to respond though as the phone in Mycroft’s car went off, making Rose yelp in surprise. “Mycroft is calling his car…” she murmured, making no move to touch the screen and answer it. After just a few seconds thought, Rose gave her brother a side-eye look. “Sherlock… What have you done?”

Immediately Sherlock was on the defense, giving her a huff and a trademark pout. “I haven’t done anything!” At once he realized he’d answered too quickly and given himself away. They hadn’t been troublemakers together for nothing; Rose knew him all too well.

Rose took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she contemplated what Sherlock may have done this time to annoy Mycroft and then it hit her. “Oh my god Sherlock, please don’t tell me you _stole_ Mycroft’s car. Please, please tell me that’s not why he’s calling!”

“I wouldn’t call it theft exactly,” Sherlock responded slowly. “I didn’t hotwire it. I used the proper keys. So really, not theft.”

“No, I’m pretty sure theft is a black and white issue- and it certainly is to Mycroft. If he didn’t give you permission to take his car, that _is_ in fact stealing! God, how did I turn out so normal?” Rose wondered, exasperation heavy in her tone. She lightly punched his arm with her left hand before putting it back on the wheel, just as the car’s phone stopped ringing. “If he calls back you better answer it. I wouldn’t put it past him to call the police and report the car stolen. We’re going to be in so much trouble and I didn’t even do anything this time!” She huffed and threw him a pout.

Sure enough a moment later Mycroft called the car and Sherlock reluctantly pressed the button to accept the call, allowing Mycroft’s angry face to appear on the screen. “Get off to the side of the road now!” Somewhere in the background they could hear a faint chuckle, the sound of which did nothing to improve their brother’s countenance.

Rose looked over her shoulder and put on the turn signal to move onto the side of the road as ordered. “There, we’re parked on the side of the road now. Mycroft, I--”

“Not a word!” Mycroft thundered. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. How dare the pair of you steal my bloody car?!” Behind him, Mycroft could hear the Queen laughing but ignored it. She was the Queen after all and he had siblings to rein in.

“Seriously, I didn’t!--” Rose tried once more.

“Rosenwyn. Aramantha. Holmes. You will be quiet,” Mycroft interrupted, his tone low and dangerous. “I am incredibly disappointed in the both of you. This is a violation of trust and if either of you damaged my car in hotwiring it…” His voice trailed off but the threat was clear.

“Keys.” Sherlock muttered.

“Oh, does the grown up in this scenario have something to add?” Mycroft inquired, quirking a dark brow. “Then again, this is hardly grown up behavior Sherlock. The two of you I swear--” There was a brief pause and then Mycroft’s face grow considerably darker. “Key, Sherlock? You have the keys? So you went into the townhouse and took the keys? I really can’t decide if that’s better or worse than simply hotwiring the damn thing. Rosenwyn, you will drive the car here and if you haven’t arrived in the next fifteen minutes, I will call the police.”

The youngest Holmes shot the brother beside her an _I told you so_ look. “Where’s here? Are you at your pseudo office?”

That gave Mycroft pause. “My pseudo office?”

Rose nodded, her curly hair bouncing as she did so. “Yeah. You totally have a much more high tech office in some lair somewhere that you do all your cool work in. The quaint office with the wood desk and bookshelves is a front.”

“How are we having this conversation right now?!” Mycroft demanded. “The validity of my office is a non-issue young lady! I’m at Buckingham Palace and I expect you here in fifteen minutes…”

Eyes wide, Rose interrupted with a bewildered, “For real?”

Mycroft continued on as if she hadn’t said a word. “Come in through the back entrance, I’ll clear it with security.  Fifteen minutes, starting now.” The call abruptly ended leaving the younger Holmes siblings slightly bewildered.

“He was serious about the palace, yeah?” Rose asked, her tone quiet.

Sherlock could only nod and gesture for her to get back on the road.

Putting the car back into gear, Rose looked over her shoulder to see if she could safely merge back into traffic. “He’s going to be waiting outside for us, I know it. Can’t believe you got me into this!” After nudging Sherlock none too gently in the ribs, she put on her turn signal and reentered traffic.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

“Look, I think that vehicle is going to the palace too,” Rose pointed out as they neared Buckingham. “You watch it’s going to put on its turn signal in three…two…”

The turn signal of the SUV did indeed began to blink before the vehicle momentarily disappeared from view as it went through the gated entrance. It was curious, a vehicle heading into what Rose assumed was a private guarded entrance to the palace just as they were about to use that same entrance. A dreadful thought suddenly occurred to Rose. “You don’t think he called the police here to arrest us do you?” Her tone was soft, almost as though she were simultaneously awestruck and panicked the very thought of it.

“That would be _so_ very like him,” Sherlock admitted, his brow furrowed with worry. It was one thing for him to be arrested—one might be surprised at the number of times that had actually occurred—but Rose? Not if he had anything to say about it.

“Do you think he really did though?” Almost as soon as she asked that, Rose’s brain had moved on to other thoughts as the driver side door of the SUV opened and the driver stepped out. “Is… is that who I think it is?” she asked, poking Sherlock. “That’s not. The universe really wouldn’t be that unkind, would it? It isn’t Prince Harry getting out of that SUV.” As she spoke, a redheaded man exited the SUV and took off his sunglasses. Rose deflated in her seat, groaning loudly. Oh yes it was, Prince Harry himself, at precisely the time she didn’t want an audience for a confrontation with Mycroft. Granted, she was taken of course, but still! Who didn’t fancy Prince Harry and who wouldn’t love to meet him?

Completely oblivious to Rose’s concerns, a half-groan, half-growl escaped Sherlock’s mouth. Just as Rose had predicted, Mycroft was waiting for them, arms crossed over his chest, giving them a look that both Rose and Sherlock associated with far too many sore bottoms over the years. “We’re in this together, aren’t we?” Sherlock asked, flashing his baby sister a hopeful look. His words seemed to draw Rose out of whatever reverie she’d been in and refocused her attention on the very angry brother waiting for them. Rose took one look at said angry brother and shook her head.

“Oh no! No, no, no. This is all you,” Rose retorted. “Nothing you could say would convince me to claim part of this, not when Mycroft looks like _that_.” She gestured vaguely in Mycroft’s direction. “And definitely not with an audience. Look at that!” Rose pointed towards the entrance where the Queen had apparently come out to greet her grandson… Or gawk at Mycroft’s wrath.

With a dramatic eye roll, Sherlock immediately huffed at her. “I bought you a pirate ship _and_ got caned for it. Surely you owe me some sibling solidarity for that.” It was a weak card to play, and gave evidence of his desperation, but it was the only one Sherlock had. Almost immediately Rose leveled him with a black look.

“Seriously?” Impatience fairly dripped from Rose’s tongue. Unbuckling her seatbelt, Rose turned in the seat to look at him incredulously. “You _stole_ Mycroft’s bank card, ordered a pirate ship that cost more than _two thousand pounds_ , and let him figure out the money was missing all on his own. Are you somehow implying that was my fault? I was only five Sherlock, hardly of an age to advise you on anything! That was all you, this is all you. I truly do not require assistance getting into trouble, especially not with the mean brother!” Throughout her little diatribe, a look of incredible annoyance had marred Rose’s pretty features, but that look cracked considerably when she waved her hand at Mycroft again and labelled him the ‘mean’ one. A smile began tugging at Rose’s lips almost immediately.

A shrug was really the only response Sherlock could give her, albeit accompanied by a rather sheepish look. “You were the most adorable little pirate,” he admitted. A smile began tugging at his lips too as Sherlock called forth memories of Pirate Rose on her glorious vessel, christened the _HMS Mycroft_ , which traversed a great many seas from their own garden. It was clear that Rose too was remembering their play on her ship when they both began giggling together.

…Just as Mycroft opened the driver’s side door.

Rose gasped, her eyes wide as Mycroft suddenly came into focus. “You… You were over there!” she said, indicating that same entrance where he had previously been standing.

“Such powers of observation,” the eldest Holmes responded, his tone full of sarcasm. “Yes, I was standing over there. When it became apparent that you and Sherlock had no plans to exit my car and proceeded to have a giggle fit, I decided to intervene.” Reaching into the car, Mycroft took hold of Rose’s upper arm and hauled her out of the car, completely ignoring the yelp Rose let out as he did so. In short order Mycroft had hauled Rose out of the car and spun her slightly before tucking her against his side. 

As soon as he tucked her against his side, facing the car, Rose knew exactly what he was going to do- he was going to spank her in public! “My! My! My, don’t!” She pleaded, even as Mycroft’s hand connected with her backside. Acutely aware of the public location and audience likely taking this in, Rose struggled to get away when a second voice of protest joined her own. Sherlock too was shouting Mycroft’s name.

Having seen the situation take a turn for the worse for his baby sister, Sherlock shot out of the passenger side of the car. “Mycroft! Mycroft this is wholly unnecessary!” Rounding the front of the car, Sherlock reached for Mycroft’s right arm with the intention of setting his sister free.

There had been no intention whatsoever in this action to take the place of Rose.

…And yet that was just what happened.

Letting go of Rose, who hurriedly moved out of arm’s reach of her eldest brother, Mycroft reached for Sherlock and none too gently took him by the collar of his coat and bent him across the bonnet of the car.

Sherlock truly had no idea how this had happened. Field work was not Mycroft’s milieu and, quite frankly, never had been. Certainly Mycroft had always been surprisingly strong, but one would think being middle aged would catch up with the eldest Holmes. Apparently that was not so. “ _Mycroft!”_ Sherlock roared.

As the Holmes sibling created a public display in the way only the Holmes siblings could do, Prince Harry jogged over towards where his grandmother stood in the doorway watching the spectacle, doing her best not to laugh too loudly. “Granny, what in the world is going on?” Harry asked, looking quite puzzled. His grandmother was far less concerned about the scenario playing out in front of them than he had expected.

Reaching towards Harry, the Queen took his hand and gave it a warm squeeze before letting go. It was not her usual welcome for her grandson but this was hardly a usual afternoon and it took a moment for her to stop laughing enough to respond verbally. “It would seem that Mycroft’s brother and sister have stolen his car and he takes great exception to that. I can’t really blame him, but this is getting a little unseemly. Go collect Rose, if you would, and bring her inside for me dear. I dare say she could use a spot of tea.” Settling the young girl, who was staring awe-struck Mycroft as he continued to spank Sherlock, would be a good thing. Mycroft could use a moment and a cup of tea as well, clearly!

To both Sherlock and Rose it seemed as if Mycroft would never stop, though in reality Mycroft only gave Sherlock a dozen or so hearty swats before released his hold on him. Having finished with Sherlock for the moment, Mycroft turned his attention to Rose to inquire as to an explanation for the left of his car, but was promptly interrupted by Harry.

“Hello,” the redheaded prince said as he slid between Mycroft and Rose. “I’m Harry. Granny asked me to escort you in for tea. May I?”

Eyes wide in shock, Rose dropped a rather inelegant curtsy that nearly pitched her forward. She might have fallen right at Harry’s feet had he not helped her back up. “Unnecessary,” Harry assured her. “Any friend of Granny’s is a friend of mine, especially such a pretty friend.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

After gaping at him for a moment, Rose found her voice again. “Lovely to meet you. I’m Rose and yes, you may escort me in for tea. It’s very kind of you.” She found herself blushing a bit and lowered her eyes. Wasn’t it disloyal to feel discomforted by, and somewhat attracted to, someone that wasn’t John?

“Excellent! Right this way,” Harry said, waving his arm in the direction of the entrance. As they fell into step beside each other, Harry placed his hand against the small of Rose’s back. The touch sent shivers up and down Rose’s spine. For a moment, she wondered if his hand would stray lower and brush against her bum and how she might appropriately respond to such an action. Did one slap a prince in such an instance? Thankfully his hand stayed at the small of her back, eliminating the need for any slapping.

Eyes narrowed dangerously, Mycroft watched as Prince Harry turned on all his charms for Rose as they walked towards the palace. His keen eyes did not miss the placement of the prince’s hand. “ _That_ is not happening,” Mycroft growled softly. He didn’t care if anyone happened to overhear him, though Sherlock was really the only one close enough to him to overhear. When he’d told Rose that she should find someone closer to her own age instead of John, a flirtation with Prince Harry was _not_ what he had in mind! Turning to Sherlock one last time, Mycroft shot daggers at him before returning to the Queen, who apparently was waiting for him.

“A bit overdone my friend,” the Queen chided as Mycroft crossed the threshold of the door. The two old friends fell into step beside each other and followed Rose and Harry down the hallway. “A far more public a spectacle than you really ought to be creating,” the Queen continued. “You know how beastly the paparazzi is and how desperate they are to capture illicit photographs. It will be quite the miracle indeed if that was not caught on camera!”

Mycroft’s mouth spread into a thin-lipped smile. It goaded him to be scolded by the queen, especially when she was, in all likelihood, spot on. But, then again, he doubted that Princess Margaret- God rest her soul- had been even half as trying as Rose and Sherlock were!

As they approached the Queen’s private sitting room, Mycroft briefly left Her Majesty’s side to catch up with Rose. Taking her by the elbow, they moved a little ways from the doorway so they could have a slight modicum of privacy—and also ensure that the Queen was able to go in and make herself comfortable. As soon as the Queen passed them, Mycroft held his right hand out palm up towards Rose. “Your driving permit,” he said firmly. When Rose didn’t immediately hand it over, he quirked an eyebrow, warningly.

“Mycroft, I’m twenty. I’m not giving you my driving permit. This was not my fault,” Rose replied sternly. Her hands immediately moved to her hips as she assumed a defiant stance, as though silently daring Mycroft to take her driving permit from her person without any assistance by her!

Silently, Mycroft closed the distance between them and leaned down to speak directly into Rose’s ear. “I’m quite certain that Her Majesty would point me in the direction of an empty room in which you and I could discuss this matter privately, should I ask her. Do I need to ask her?” Mycroft’s tone, combined with the look on his face as he straightened, made it clear that there would be little in the way of verbal exchange if they ‘discussed’ the issue privately. For the first time since he’d hauled her out of the car, Mycroft got a good look at her as she attempted to stare him down. _Of course_ his sister would have to come to Buckingham Palace in a dress covered in _sea horses._ A very short dress at that! “And what in god’s name are you wearing?” he ground out.

Unwilling to take the chance that Mycroft would really do that, and being the mean brother that was truly more likely than not, Rose took her purse back from Sherlock (he’d been kind enough to remember it was in the car!) as he slipped past them into the sitting room. It didn’t take long to retrieve her wallet and pull out her driving permit. About to hand it over, Rose’s hand stopped halfway towards Mycroft’s, caught off guard by the sudden change of topic. When it finally dawned on her what he’d asked, Rose looked down at her cream colored dress covered with sea horses of various colors, turquoise cardigan, and black Victorian inspired boots that came almost up to her knee. In fact, she looked long and hard at it before shifting her gaze back to Mycroft. “What?” she asked in a puzzled tone. This was how she always dressed!

Mycroft heaved a put-upon sigh and rolled his eyes. “Of all the days for you to be wearing something like… _that_. It’s indecently short for one thing. For another--”

Rose scowled darkly at him and raised her chin defiantly as she put her hands on her hips, interrupting Mycroft before he could go on any further. “If you’re implying that what I am wearing is somehow inappropriate for Buckingham Palace, do allow me to point out to you that I hardly _planned_ to come here today! You’re the one that threatened to call the police if I didn’t! You--” She pointed at Mycroft. “And you--” Rose fingered Sherlock now. “Are really just--”

“I think your dress is splendid,” Harry interrupted, ducking his head back into the hallway. He flashed Rose a cheeky grin. “Very bright, full of energy and personality. Tea’s ready. Coming?”

Without a word Rose threw her driving permit at Mycroft and followed Harry into the sitting room.

\------------------------------------------------------

The precise moment that it was polite to do so, Mycroft made his apologies to the Queen and- barely resisting the urge to drag each of them out by an ear- walked Sherlock and Rose outside. None of the siblings uttered even a word as they walked through the halls, though Mycroft certainly gave his polite smile and nod of acknowledgement to several people along the way. It wasn’t until they exited the palace that Mycroft deigned to acknowledge his miscreant siblings.

“Get in the car,” he ordered sternly. “In the _back_ of the car, mind you.” Mycroft wasn’t certain he could resist the urge to deliver a well-earned smack upside the head of whomever sat beside him in the front. Thankfully, neither of his siblings put up a fuss at being relegated to the backseat.

In the backseat, Sherlock and Rose flopped against the backrest and crossed their arms over their chests in nearly perfect unison. Had it been any other situation, the two would certainly have shared a laugh, but Mycroft was already on edge and there was no reason to antagonize him any further.

“I want to go home. Please take me home Mycroft,” Rose said firmly.

“That is precisely where we are going. We’re going home and taking a trip to the study for a long, long discussion about theft. Sherlock, don’t think you will be excluded from the discussion,” Mycroft warned, his tone steely. “Though heaven only knows why I bother to try and correct _you_ anymore.” He shot the younger man a dark look that precisely matched the one Rose was currently giving Mycroft himself.

“I did not mean the townhouse, I meant Baker Street. And I am not a thief!” The dark look on Rose’s face now turned to Sherlock, who was avoiding her gaze completely. Huffing, Rose turned to look straight ahead again, just in time to catch Mycroft lift a skeptical eyebrow at her.

“I’m not a thief anymore. One. Bloody. Time. Ages ago at that!” Rose shouted, adding a firm kick to the back of Mycroft’s seat. She smirked with satisfaction when Mycroft’s seat jerked with the force behind that kick, and the slightly pained yelp that accompanied only made her smirk all the more.

…Until Mycroft pulled the car over. His vexation with both his siblings was scrawled all over his face as he parked the car out of the way of traffic. The color drained from Rose’s face as Mycroft turned towards the backseat and raised his right hand, bringing it down sharply against her thigh.

“Oww- _uh_!” Rose yelped. Her hand went straight to the now warm and tingling handprint on her thigh, attempting to rub away the stinging.

“If you ever kick my seat while I’m driving again, I will pull this car over and spank you then and there for all and sundry to see. Do you understand me, young lady?” Mycroft asked, his tone utterly uncompromising.

Rose quickly nodded and mumbled a “Yes,” in response. Really, she was far more preoccupied with rubbing the sting from her thigh.

Reaching into the backseat again, Mycroft gently took hold of Rose’s chin and lifted her head so he could look her in the eye. “Yes…what?”

Her face blooming cherry red, Rose swallowed hard before responding. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” Mycroft praised, pleased that she was calm and not having a strop. Well, at least not yet, but he could hope! Letting go of her chin, Mycroft turned to face forward again, putting the car into gear.

Sherlock paid little attention to the argument that was quickly escalating, desperately trying to suss out a way to avoid a trip to Mycroft’s study. Given the events at Buckingham, Sherlock had no illusions about what Mycroft had in mind and it wouldn’t be sorted out with a simply scolding.

“I…I…I’ve got a case on! Lestrade needs me at once, Mycroft!” Sherlock suddenly shouted. The delighted sound in Sherlock’s tone was matched by the look on his face- it was the perfect excuse!

Rose whipped her head around to look at Sherlock, staring blankly at him with her mouth hanging open in utter disbelief. Sherlock’s mobile wasn’t even _in_ his hands! How did he expect that to work? Better yet, would he seriously abandon her after starting this whole mess?

Mycroft looked in the rearview mirror and couldn’t miss the way Rose was looking at Sherlock. It worried him, but he couldn’t put his finger on why it did. “The look on our sister’s face tells me that’s not the least bit true. You’re clearly out of practice, brother mine. Childish games will not convince me that you’re too old for a childish punishment.” Mycroft’s words, spoken with an incredibly smug tone, hung thick in the air.

The final leg of the drive to the Holmes townhouse was spent in a silence that reigned until the Holmes siblings found themselves in Mycroft’s study; eldest behind the desk, the younger ones standing in front of it. Once more Mycroft found himself a bit mystified by the look on Rose’s face that seemed to be growing angrier by the minute. Even odder was the fact that it was directed at Sherlock rather than at himself.

“I have lost count of how many times we’ve found ourselves here, with the two of you involved in some sort of mischief that I inevitably have to sort out. I am at least thankful that neither of you chose to hotwire my car,” Mycroft admitted. “But there is still much to be explained. Rose, why don’t you start?” Settling back in his chair, Mycroft pinned his little sister with a stern look.

“I can’t start anywhere. I had nothing to do with this,” Rose responded at once, her tone urgent and pleading. After addressing him, she elbowed Sherlock rather firmly in the ribcage, clearly expecting him to take the lead.

Sherlock gazed down at his little sister as his brain worked overtime to come up with a way that he could explain this without walking into the caning he could sense was coming his way. So far, he was drawing a blank and it was driving him mad.

“Rosenwyn, surely you don’t expect me to believe that you had nothing to do with this?” Mycroft questioned incredulously. “You and Sherlock are always causing mischief together and while this might in fact be the height of your antics, it is hardly new to see you two over there and find myself here, utterly perplexed and almost a loss of what to do with you.”

Abandoning her silent pleas to Sherlock, at least for the moment, Rose turned her head to look at Mycroft again. “Why do you think I would steal your car Mycroft?” Her tone was dull and flat, and should have been a warning to Mycroft that he was going down the wrong road.

Sadly he didn’t pick up on it. “Why wouldn’t I? Honestly Rose, why wouldn’t I? You’re itching to get your practice hours in, things were rather…” Mycroft tried to choose his words carefully. “…rather rocky during our last excursion. Surely that is sufficient motivation to devise some sort of scheme with Sherlock to go round me. Am I wrong?”

Rose raised her chin defiantly and for a long moment did nothing but stare silently at him as hurt flooded her eyes. “I’m not a common criminal, I’m not a liar, and I’m not going to damage the trust you have in me by stealing your car. Whatever I did recently to make you think I would boldly lie to your face about something like this, I have no idea. But I’m sorry for it, because it seems I need to earn back your trust again. I’ll work on that.” Her voice began to waver as tears glistened in her eyes, threatening to spill at any second. “I’ll work on that,” Rose repeated. “In the meantime, I’m going home.” Without a word to Sherlock, Rose turned on her heel and stormed out of the study.

A sinking feeling filled Mycroft’s chest as he watched Rose hastily exit the room. Had he been too quick to lump she and Sherlock together in this mischief? One look at Sherlock, observing his reddening face and sorrow filled eyes, confirmed that he’d rushed to judgement. In seconds he was up on his feet and going after her. “Rose! Rosenwyn! Rose!” Running out onto the drive, Mycroft scanning the surrounding area and spotted a turquoise cardigan rounding the block, undoubtedly heading for the nearest tube station. “ROSE! WAIT!”

Looking over her shoulder at Mycroft’s shouting, Rose could tell he was in pursuit of her and would close in on her soon. Why he was following her she wasn’t entirely sure, but what Rose did know is that she had no desire to speak to either of her brothers right then. “TAXI!” Rose shouted, putting her arm out for a passing car to stop. Mycroft would catch up with her before she could take the tube, but a taxi would put good distance between them, at least for a time. Getting into the cab, she shut the car door firmly behind her and addressed the driver.

“221B Baker Street, please.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Mycroft’s heart sank as he watched Rose disappear from sight in the cab. For several minutes he stood there at the end of the street, hoping she would come back. She didn’t, but Sherlock soon joined him. The two brothers stood together in silence for a moment longer before either of them spoke.

“That… I should have seen that outcome,” the younger man said quietly. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.” Sherlock was unable to keep a tremor of emotion from his voice as he spoke. He and Rose had always been so in tune to one another, there’d always been a bond of sibling camaraderie and solidarity between them. Sherlock couldn’t help but think that he had just unwittingly damaged the close bond he and Rose shared. And for what? To save his arse from Mycroft, who apparently had no inhibitions about taking him to task? It seemed very silly now, to have been so worried about Mycroft getting out the cane that it had overridden everything else.

Mycroft eyed his brother incredulously, wondering what was going on inside Sherlock’s head—both now and when Sherlock had stolen the damn car earlier on. “Did you see the look in her eyes, Sherlock?” His voice was quiet and subdued. “Did you see that look of distrust in her eyes? She and I are doing better than we have in years and I _never_ wanted to see that look in her eyes again. Today I did, and _you_ put it there.”

Sherlock, his face flooding with color, could do little more than hang his head in shame.

When it became clear that Sherlock would offer no defense (which was frankly a relief!), Mycroft continued on. “You will find a way to make this right Sherlock.” It was not a question, but a statement of fact, if not an order. “You will find a way to make this right with Rose. And don’t believe for a second that you’re getting out of explaining and getting your just rewards for this entire debacle.” Putting his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders, Mycroft turned him in the direction of the townhouse. “We’re going to my study. _Now._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not as long as I'd like it to be but it's a chapter and it's here for your reading pleasure! More will follow ASAP!


	15. If You Call a Girl a Thief...

Ensconced in a warm cab, Rose pulled her mobile out of her purse and began composing a text.

‘You at home?’

‘No, working a case’

‘Could use your brother right about now’

‘Will he be coming this way soon?’

Rose sighed heavily as she read John’s responses. ‘Don’t know what either of my brothers are doing. Don’t care’

There was a slightly longer pause before she received a reply.

‘Everything okay love?’

‘Just my brothers being my brothers.’ Rose texted back.

‘You sure?’

‘Positive.’

‘Love you, darling girl.’

John’s words brought a smile to her face. ‘Love you too.’

This left her with a dilemma though. Not feeling much like being alone, Rose opened her contact list to see who she could call for an impromptu outing. Louise was out of town at a competition so she was eliminated from the options. There were a few other girls from the dance studio and while Rose was friendly with them and they socialized at gatherings, she wasn’t close with them. Never before had she realized that she had such a dearth of female friends, but today that certainly seemed to be the case! The question was, who was left in her contacts?

There was Anthea, but Rose hesitated to text or call her. While they were in communication from time to time, most especially when Rose had surprised Mycroft with Lilibet, they weren’t really friends. Besides, she was in Mycroft’s camp. Sighing heavily, Rose scrolled down her list until she came upon a name that looked like her best option. Selecting it, she waited for someone to answer.

“Hello?”

For a second or two Rose almost felt too shy to answer, but quickly overcame the feeling. “Hi. It’s Rose… Sherlock’s sister? I know we haven’t really done anything together before, but I could use a friend for an impromptu shopping spree on my big brother’s card. I think perhaps you, more than anyone else, knows what morons my brothers can be. Would you want to? Go shopping?” Rose bit her lip, wondering what the response would be.

A soft laugh was heard on the other end of the line. “I completely understand. Any particular shopping spot in mind?”

Letting out a breath Rose hadn’t realized she’d been holding, she quickly sorted out where they should meet up before proceeding to shop until they dropped. With a plan in place, Rose ended the call and redirected the taxi driver to a new destination.

\---------------------------------------------------------

The short walk to the townhouse was spent in utter silence. Mycroft truly had no idea what was going on in Sherlock’s head to prompt the cacophony of chaos that the last ninety minutes or so had become. One thing he did know was what Sherlock needed a reality check… and he would happily provide it! Though Mycroft did have to admit, Sherlock was upset, the emotion easily readable in Sherlock’s eyes and the way he walked. What remained to be seen was whether or not he was upset because Rose was hurt, he’d stolen the car, or he was about to be caned.

“Study,” Mycroft said as he opened the front door. “Find a corner and occupy it and _do not_ huff at me.”

Sherlock closed his mouth and began to protrude his lower lip.

“Or pout.”

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock stalked into the study and went to stand in the furthest corner of the room from Mycroft’s desk. What the point of this exercise was he didn’t know, but Sherlock was at least smart enough not to push the issue, or rather, his luck.

With Sherlock in the corner, Mycroft retrieved his laptop and began a search for Rose. She didn’t have enough money, nor the proper documentation, to flee the country, but she could easily become invisible within London for a while should she do so. He fervently hoped that she wouldn’t do that, but just in case, he began to track her mobile. He refused to lose her again, particularly over something like this.

Leaving the trace running, Mycroft moved his laptop to a side table and crossed to the closet in the room. He could sense Sherlock stiffen in the corner, knowing that the cane was being retrieved. There had been times in Sherlock’s life that the cane had been the only form of communication Sherlock understood, the physical symbol of crossing the line. It would seem that once again Sherlock needed to be reined in and Mycroft couldn’t blame his little brother for not being enthusiastic about the reunion with the cane. The fearsome implement in hand, Mycroft went to sit behind his desk once more and laid the cane on top of his desk. “Sherlock, come and explain yourself to me.”

Reluctantly, Sherlock did as he was told. He found that he couldn’t quite look Mycroft in the face once he stood in front of his big brother’s desk and, quite annoyingly, felt his face color with shame. He had certainly made a mess of this. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, eyes locked on the cane. As quickly as his face had grown red with embarrassment, it drained of color just as quickly while Sherlock’s eyes locked on to the cane and he couldn’t tear himself away.

The eldest Holmes took a deep breath and let it out slowly before responding. “Are you Sherlock? Are you truly? And which act is that apology supposed to cover? Do you even know what all you should be apologizing for?” Mycroft paused, hoping Sherlock would chime in with a better apology and begin to name the poor choices he needed to apologize for.

“I’m sorry that I involved Rose in something like this,” Sherlock replied. “I didn’t mean to get her in trouble with you, or make her an accessory to my borrowing your car without permission--”

“An accessory to _stealing_ my car,” Mycroft interjected.

Sherlock cleared his throat. “An accessory to stealing your car. I’m sorry that I created a situation that allowed for Rose to get hurt. I would never purposely hurt the baby.”

That, above all else, Mycroft believed. He had no doubt that Sherlock had not, for whatever reason, anticipated that the fallout of his choices would impact Rose. “Are you sorry for stealing my car in the first place?”

“I am now!” Sherlock hastily replied.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “At least you’re honest in that regard, though I imagine the cane is responsible for that honesty. Did you truly think I wouldn’t find out about this, brother mine? More importantly, why didn’t you speak up and claim responsibility for your actions rather than allow me to place blame on Rose? She trusts you Sherlock… and so did I.”

Sherlock visibly flinched in response to his brother’s words. Mycroft _had_ trusted him, meaning he no longer did. This would necessitate that he rebuild that trust with Mycroft and could potentially strain things in their effort to love, care for, and guide their baby sister.

“Are you going to answer me?” Mycroft inquired when Sherlock remained silent.

There was considerable hesitation before Sherlock spoke, as he wasn’t sure how the truthful answer would be received. “I intended to take the blame, because it was in fact mine. That’s why I came to intercede between you and Rose, only to find myself being publicly spanked over the bonnet of the car. It occurred to me that if I was not too old for that to happen that you were likely to think I wasn’t too old to be caned for it.” In other words, Sherlock had panicked, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to say the words out loud.

The eldest Holmes sighed heavily. He could hardly blame Sherlock for panicking a bit at the idea that he was not too old to be punished after all. In fact, it had been quite some time since Mycroft had last spanked or otherwise disciplined Sherlock; nearly a decade! Panic over being caught was hardly an excuse for the action that started this mess in the first place. “You have put me in an untenable position here Sherlock. It is hardly a joyous occasion for me to have to discipline you and we should, in fact, be far past the days when I need to do so,” Mycroft explained.

“We have a problem here,” Mycroft continued, his tone growing quite grave. “I trusted you to be the adult, to keep Rose in check at Baker Street. I can hardly rely on you to keep Rose out of trouble if you’re going to get her mixed in up car theft. Thank god it was only _my_ car you took, otherwise imagine what kind of trouble Rose would be in thanks to you? Accessory to grand theft auto!”

Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t take just anyone’s car. Particularly not if it was going to be used for Rose’s driving hours. Don’t be overdramatic Mycroft.”

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly to try and calm himself. “So you’re a _selective_ car thief then? Is that supposed to make me feel _better_?!” His attempt to remain calm quickly eroded, and Mycroft bellowed the last few words at Sherlock. “I trusted you with her, Sherlock. I trusted you to be an adult and take care of her. Apparently that was a mistake. You steal, lie, and let me believe she was involved in this deception and had violated my trust. This is so completely idiotic Sherlock, I can hardly even fathom your thought process. Correction,” Mycroft paused for a second. “There was no thought process about any of this. I think it’s time I keep an eye on Rose for a while, until you can manage to prove yourself to be a responsible guardian again. And to be frank, I don’t see Rose willing to be answerable to you after you’ve pulled something like this. We’ll be lucky if she doesn’t stage an all-out rebellion against you.”

Mycroft’s words hurt, and the evidence of how deep that cut Sherlock flashed across the younger man’s face. _What does this mean_? Sherlock thought. He was certain that he could patch things up with Rose, considering how close they were. But did Mycroft mean to keep Rose away from him again? Take her away from Baker Street? Three times in his life he had been forced to stay away from Rose- after he overdosed when Rose was ten; after he started using again when Rose was fourteen; and when Rose ran away. Those were by far the most painful and lonely times of his entire life and Sherlock had no desire to experience that ever again.

Watching his brother closely, Mycroft saw something alarming flickering in Sherlock’s eyes, though the younger man’s face was well masked. It disquieted him immensely. “Sherlock? What are you thinking about right now? I’m sure that, whatever it is, you’re blowing it out of proportion. Talk to me Sherlock, I’m right here,” Mycroft said firmly.

\------------------------------------------------------------------

While Mycroft attempted to get through to Sherlock, Rose stepped out of her cab in front of a local shopping mall. She passed the driver enough bills to cover her fare and waved away the change before turning towards the entrance. That was when she spotted Molly Hooper and waved enthusiastically at her. Waiting by the door, Molly waited for the younger girl to join her before suddenly wrapping her arms around Rose and squeezing tightly. After just a moment, she let go and stepped back, her cheeks beginning to grow pink. “Sorry, I… You just sounded like you could use a cuddle when we were talking earlier and… I’m sorry.” After all, Rose was a Holmes and she didn’t know her all that well. What really _had_ she been thinking? Molly mentally gave herself a good scold before she was interrupted by a bit of laughter.

“I’m sure I did sound that way,” Rose admitted. “And it was very kind of you. Unlike my brothers, I happen to enjoy a cuddle from friends, especially those intuitive enough to know I need one without my saying. We’re… we are friends aren’t we?” She flashed Molly a nervous little smile, suddenly finding herself just as nervous as Molly had been a moment ago. It was an unusual feeling for Rose, who thought herself to be a confidant person. Then again, it wasn’t very hard to be confidant around friends. Not to mention the fact that her confidence in things with Mycroft had been rather shaken.

“Well, if there’s any doubts, a day of shopping is sure to clear that up, yeah?” Molly offered with a smile. “We know each other a bit, no reason we can’t be friends. I was really… flattered that you called. That you thought of me. No one usually does.”

Rose’s heart constricted at the blunt honesty in Molly’s tone. “I don’t believe that,” she decided. “I think you’ve got a small, trusted circle of friends. People who really know you and love you, and you don’t play up the numbers game as if having friends were a competition. You want people you can be yourself with and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“You’re definitely a Holmes,” Molly decided. Her tone was much lighter now, and she gave Rose a smile. “How did you figure that out?”

“Because we’re alike in that way I think. I prefer a small circle of friends to a large one. I like to be myself and not waste my time with people that don’t appreciate me as I am.” A sad look settled on Rose’s face as she realized that Mycroft now fit into that category, or rather had for some time in comments about her clothing. “Anyway, it just means we’re well suited to be friends I think. So, let’s get at it then! Mani-pedis first or should we clothes shop first?”

“Clothing,” Molly decided. The two fell into step beside one another as they headed into the building. “Have you been to that shop that upcycles clothes? Takes old clothes and refashions them? I love going there and it’s really unique. Every piece is one of a kind.”

“Lead me to that area at once,” Rose directed with a laugh. “Because one-of-a-kind and unique are just my style!”

\------------------------------------------------------------------

“Sherlock!” Mycroft thundered. “You’re not going into your mind palace in order to avoid answering me! What is the matter?”

The younger man swallowed hard as his gaze fell to the floor. _Some things never change_ , Mycroft thought to himself. Sherlock certainly didn’t; or rather, Sherlock in trouble didn’t. All that was missing was some foot shuffling of some sort. Though perhaps toeing at the floor with his shoe was the version of shuffling his feet that Sherlock now preferred.

“Are you going to take Rose away?” Sherlock finally asked, his eyes staying glued to the floor.

“Take Rose away?” Mycroft repeated slowly. “Where exactly would I take her?” His brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what Sherlock was getting at, but clearly couldn’t manage to say bluntly.

“Away from Baker Street… and…from me.” For being a statement of only seven words, there was a world of past hurt, even agony, behind them. A feeling of loneliness and emptiness washed over Sherlock at the very idea of Rose being kept from him again. “I’m not using Mycroft, I swear it.”

His brother’s hurting was palpable and Mycroft was reminded of a somewhat similar situation some years earlier here in this very room. He’d sworn never to let Sherlock see Rose again and thrown him out of the house when Sherlock had relapsed, with no promise he could ever come back. As it turned out, Sherlock never did come back to the family home, though Mycroft had considerable difficulty keeping Rose from him and eventually gave up on it. Naturally he closely monitored his brother, lest Rose find herself in danger, but Sherlock had never let that happen. And, as he was now discovering, Sherlock had never quite got over that second forced separation from Rose.

“Sherlock, this is a very different circumstance than the last time you were in here and I used similar wording,” Mycroft pointed out. “For one thing, Rose is twenty, not fourteen and even at fourteen I could hardly successfully manage to keep her from you. She does as she pleases when it comes to you. For another, you stole my car, which is not the same as bringing illegal substances into the family home. You may have a caning coming your way, but this is hardly a reason to try and force you two apart again. Besides, Rose has already turned down my offer to move home to see if it soothed her PTSD, so I imagine removal from Baker Street for any reason would one hell of a fight. One I wouldn’t likely win.” A bit of a smile crossed Mycroft’s face as he admitted that. “Do you see that today is different?”

Finally Sherlock managed to look up from the floor and turn his gaze upon Mycroft, narrowing his eyes as he scrutinized the eldest Holmes. “I suppose,” he finally decided. Sherlock’s face began to grow pink as he realized how silly he must have sounded to Mycroft. Then again, anything having to do with Rose was always emotionally charged, despite efforts to the contrary.

“Your decision today was stupid, but not lethal. I’m angrier that you put Rose in the position you did than that you took my car. To be frank, I almost expect that sort of thing from you.” The two brothers shared a brief, small smile with one another. Sherlock’s reputation as a troublemaker was well earned, but that didn’t mean Mycroft hadn’t, on occasion, found amusement (or even admiration at times) in Sherlock’s more colorful and imaginative bouts of misbehavior.

“The idea that I would keep an eye on Rose was not meant to imply her removal from Baker Street by any means,” Mycroft continued. “Rather, think of my role as…” He paused to consider the correct term for what he had in mind. “An enforcer, to some extent. I’m foreseeing potential issues of Rose rebelling against you because if you aren’t going to make good choices, why should she listen to you? In such an instance, I would therefore have the last word and, if necessary, administer discipline. Neither of you are above the law, but Rose should not use today’s events as justification for a free-for-all. Does that make sense to you?”

Sherlock nodded slowly, processing his brother’s words. “That does make sense. I hope that won’t have to be in effect for long. Even more than that, I hope things won’t come to the point that you need to step in. But Rose _can_ be very stubborn and defiant when she wishes to be. I suppose we’ll see how things go.”

“Precisely,” Mycroft agreed. “A contingency plan for our unpredictable little sister. That, however, is to be worried about at a later time if circumstances warrant it. For now, brother mine…” Rising from his chair, Mycroft picked up the cane on his desk. “You have a good hiding coming. Trousers and pants down and bend over the desk. See to it that you behave yourself- no interfering, no standing up until it’s over or--”

“Or you’ll be an arsehole and make it worse somehow,” Sherlock answered. He artfully dodged the cane when Mycroft flicked it at him in response to his cheek, instead crossing the room to shed his coat and placing it on a chair.

“You never did know when to keep your mouth shut to save your hide,” Mycroft muttered, rolling his eyes. “Just as when you were young, this wipes the slate clean,” he reminded Sherlock, then proceeded to wait for the younger Holmes to return to the desk.

…And waited.

….And waited.

“Oh do stop dawdling with your coat, Sherlock, and _come here_.” He raised an eyebrow at Sherlock who finally stopped fussing with the folding of his coat and sheepishly began to cross the room. Mycroft stood to the side as he wait for his brother to bare his bottom and bend over the desk. “Eighteen today,” he cautioned, stepping up alongside Sherlock to take aim.

“ _What_?!” Sherlock half roared. He looked over his shoulder at Mycroft, eyes widened with a not insignificant amount of trepidation. Eighteen cane strokes was tantamount to torture!

“I could easily make it twenty-four Sherlock,” Mycroft warned. His tone made it abundantly clear that this was not up for negotiation. “Eyes forward, young man, and do _not_ give me that shocked look of outrage. This is more than earned and even you must realize that.” He watched, albeit with a bit of satisfaction, when Sherlock did as he was told. “Let’s review the rules, as it’s been some time since you were last here for an appointment with the cane. Your hands must stay in front of you at all times, and you are allowed to stomp and kick as necessary, provided you do not kick me or damage my desk.” Mycroft nearly added that Sherlock could shout and cry, too, but if Sherlock didn’t know that by now, he’d really done something wrong in Sherlock’s formative years.

The cane tapped Sherlock’s bottom as Mycroft took aim, causing the younger man to wince in anticipation. Mycroft raised the cane high before bringing it down with a whistling crack across the crest of Sherlock’s cheeks. It had been some time since Mycroft had last used a cane- since before Rose had disappeared- and he was pleased to see he hadn’t lost his touch. One should not use a cane if they couldn’t wield it properly, after all.

As Mycroft found he hadn’t lost his skill with the cane, Sherlock found _he_ had forgot how much a caning hurt. The immediate impact left a line of fire across his cheeks that seemed to sting and burn in equal measure, the real pain setting in seconds after the initial impact. That’s what made canes so nasty! That and the cumulative effect of multiple strokes, that seemed to ignite and even worsen prior ones. Sherlock hadn’t forgot that bit, or rather, he hadn’t erased that bit, and even with that in mind, there was no real way to brace for the cane.

“Shall I count for you?” Mycroft asked. “Or would you like to do the honors?” It didn’t matter to him either way, though saying the count aloud might help Sherlock struggle through a bit more. He wasn’t surprised though when Sherlock chose not to reply, instead gritting his teeth as he waited for the caning to continue.

It wasn’t a long wait, with strokes two and three falling quickly, each leaving a tramline of pain behind. Mycroft didn’t count out loud, having no real desire to actually make this more difficult for Sherlock, shockingly enough. He really ought to just thrash the daylights out of his younger brother. Instead, he worked in threes. Three strokes, with perhaps 30 seconds between them, than a full minute for recovery. If the gasps and shifting Sherlock did was any indication, it was effective but not unbearable.

Sherlock gritted his teeth as the first set of three became a total of six, with each stroke moving ever further down his backside. He gasped after nearly every stroke, shifting uncomfortably during the break Mycroft provided him. As the third set began, Sherlock began to hiss and grunt in response before finally breaking his relative silence to utter an “Ow, ow, ow,” and stomp his foot on the floor. _Good god, am I only half way through?!_ He thought to himself.

“You’re doing well Sherlock. Very well. I’m certain we won’t ever have to discuss grand theft again, hm?” Even Mycroft himself winced at the sharp crack of the twelfth stroke. That one bit deep, he could tell, and if that hadn’t been obvious, Sherlock’s reaction left no doubt.

Yelping loudly, Sherlock jerked and began to rise from the desk before thinking better of it and resuming the proper position. That didn’t stop a string of curse words from falling out of his mouth, nor keep him from stomping both feet on the floor several times. When he finally settled, Sherlock was rather shocked to find tears stinging his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he cried, let alone cried in front of _Mycroft_ over a _spanking_. _Though it is a caning,_ Sherlock thought, seeking to both defend and explain this disturbing turn of events. Wrapped up in these thoughts, it was a shock to the system when the caning resumed. A sob caught in his throat as Mycroft continued to bring the cane down, seemingly without mercy, driving him ever closer to all out crying.

Mycroft landed each stroke with care, making certain the tram lines were evenly spaced and did not cross one another as they marched down Sherlock’s bottom. He was surprised that Sherlock had not begun to cry noticeably yet, though it was clear the younger man was struggling. The stomping had increased and the little “ow, ow, ow” chorus was steadily growing louder and more tearful sounding. When Mycroft paused to give Sherlock a bit of time to recover before the final set of three, part of him was filled with alarm when Sherlock simply lowered his head, resting his forehead against the top of the desk.

Wrestling with whether or not to continue, particularly as the final three strokes would land across his sit spots and the very last across the tops of his thighs, Mycroft reached out tentatively to place his hand on Sherlock’s back. He could feel the deep intakes of breath and the shuddering of silent but very heartfelt sobs. No doubt he would find a small puddle of tears on his desk, should he look. “Almost done Sherlock,” Mycroft said quietly, rubbing the small of his brother’s back. “Last three, and then let’s never do this again. Agreed?”

Sherlock nodded his curly head, more than ready for this ordeal to be finished and never _ever_ repeated, even if that meant he had to take three more strokes across the most sensitive area of his bum. The consulting detective didn’t notice, given the fact that his bottom was already on fire, but Mycroft tempered the last three strokes, using less force behind them so they were the lightest of the eighteen. Despite his best efforts to soldier on, mind over matter, Sherlock’s sobs became more vocal by the final stroke. Exhausted, embarrassed, and in considerable pain, he did not move even after Mycroft said the caning was over.

Allowing a moment for Sherlock to collect himself, Mycroft took the cane back to its place in the closet and then detoured over to the liquor cabinet in the far corner of the room. His finest whiskey was poured into two glasses that were taken back to the desk. “Whenever you’re ready,” Mycroft said quietly, somehow finding himself rubbing Sherlock’s back once again. “You took that very well Sherlock. Surprisingly so.” Surely if Rose needed comforting still after a spanking, Sherlock could do with some brotherly encouragement. Half expecting Sherlock to tell him to fuck off, Mycroft continued to offer that encouragement until it seemed that Sherlock was ready to rise.

Slowly and very, very carefully, Sherlock rose from the desk and bent to retrieve his clothing and return it to its proper place. This was not an easy thing to do, and elicited considerable quiet “ouch”s and grunts before the task was completed. As soon as he straightened and his bum was covered again, Sherlock found a box of tissues being nonchalantly pushed in his direction and a glass of whiskey put in his hand. The brothers shared a silent look that spoke volumes about what had just occurred without using any words at all and, after a moment, it was business as usual between them.

“Now, knowing Rose as we do, this is what I anticipate from her in the near future and how I believe we should handle it… together,” Mycroft began. “A rebellion is coming, brother mine. We had best be prepared.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

After finding a few treasures at the upcycle store Molly had raved about, she and Rose wandered the shopping center ducking into various stores to try on shoes and clothes and look at jewelry. Molly had just spotted a fuzzy baby blue jumper that had her name on it when she caught sight of what Rose was holding. Raising her eyebrows, she moved closer to get a better look at the item. It was a yellowish jacket covered in swans riding bicycles.

“That’s…” Molly began. She paused, trying to think of how to put it gently, but then opted to simply be honest. “That’s rather hideous. Might even be the ugliest jacket I’ve ever seen.”

Putting a hand over her mouth, Rose tried, rather unsuccessfully, to stifle her laughter. “You’re right, it is,” she confirmed when her laughter was under control. “It’s sort of the principle of it though, this ugly coat. I’m going to get it, and return it probably, just to annoy Mycroft. He thinks this dress is inappropriate? Then he ought to get a good look at this coat and all the other stuff I’m getting. Most of it I’ll keep though.” Her selections thus far included a short, hot pink shirt; a white jumper with all sorts of glass beads on it; a very sexy black dress picked out with wowing John in mind; a bright yellow dress with a lace covered bodice; a Pusheen t-shirt; and a pink blouse covered in unicorns. “This is probably my favorite,” Rose said, showing Molly a black dress covered in tiny umbrellas. “An ode to Mycroft and his brolly. Or maybe these trousers with little foxes on them is my favorite. I have a jumper that will go perfect with them.”

“They _are_ really cute trousers,” Molly agreed with a smile. “And I love that brolly dress. I think I need that for myself if it’s in my size! What else have you got?”

The two spent several minutes examining each other’s shopping choices before making their final selections, which included dresses covered in rabbits and smiling air balloons respectively. “So you’re trying to annoy your brother then? Buy things you know he won’t like with his card? What happened earlier?” Molly asked while they waited in queue.

Rose whispered a short version of the events that had taken place at Buckingham Palace and, subsequently, Mycroft’s study. “He doesn’t understand that just as his Savile row suits define him, my clothes define me. I’m young and quirky, perhaps a tad bit eccentric, and I love to have fun. I love things that are interesting and so I buy clothes that are interesting. A dress covered in sea horses for instance,” Rose said, indicating the dress she was wearing. “When he says that my clothes are inappropriate or embarrass him, it’s…” She paused, trying to think of the right way to put it, her forehead creasing with the effort.

“It’s sort of like he’s saying that _you_ or your personality are embarrassing or inappropriate,” Molly commented, perfectly following Rose’s line of thought. “Which is really quite hurtful.” She thought back to all the times Sherlock had said or inferred that she or her clothing were plain. Molly didn’t think of herself as plain. Rather, her taste was professional when at work, though her work clothing was generally made of comfortable fabrics in her favorite hues. She didn’t try to blend into the woodwork, rather she blended into her working world. Unlike Sherlock, Molly couldn’t define her job so fluidly and even if most of the people she saw everyday were dead and up for postmortems, there was an expectation of modesty and professionalism expected of everyone at St. Bart’s.

When she wasn’t working, however, was when Molly let her own personality show. Today, for example, she was wearing a pair of sparkly flats with a sparkly red jumper and a skirt with cat silhouettes on it. It was a cute, comfortable outfit and very much her.

“I’m sorry,” Rose said quietly, looking contemplative

Her words snapped Molly out of her deep thoughts and she turned a quizzical look on the younger woman. “Sorry for what?”

“For whatever Sherlock has said to make you feel that way. He doesn’t put it together that the things he wouldn’t say to me because it would be hurtful might be hurtful to others too. So I’m sorry for any comments he’s made that have upset you. I’d say don’t take it personally, because that’s just Sherlock, but that’s a tall order to not be hurt by it,” Rose admitted.

Molly shook her head and smiled. “I’m used to it and I don’t think he’s actually trying to be cruel, at least most of the time. He’s just… Sherlock.”

Their conversation came to a pause as they stepped up to the registers to pay for their purchases. Rose smiled gleefully as she handed over the card tied to Mycroft’s account and signed the receipt for the not insignificant total.

“Where to next?” Molly asked as they exited the shop. “We could get a late supper or try to get our nails done before the salons close.”

Rose was inclined to getting her nails done and finding supper later on but her response immediately changed when she caught sight of the shop kitty-corner to the one they just exited. “You know, I don’t think there’s anything sweeter for revenge after being called a thief than using Mycroft’s card to buy lingerie.” With a mischievous twinkle in her eye, Rose indicated the store and gave Molly a questioning look. “Should we?”

Laughing, Molly nodded. “I think we should! Maybe after we’ll catch dinner and head back to my flat? I’ve got films and Xbox--”

“Rock Band?” Rose inquired, clearly intrigued.

“Of course! With a guitar and a drum set,” Molly confirmed with a bright grin. “With a seriously large song library too. Is there really any other reason to _have_ an x-box if not for games like Rock Band?” War simulation games held little appeal for Molly but some, like Rock Band, Just Dance, and various Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings games were quite fun.

“Oh, I’m _so_ in!” Rose linked her arm through Molly’s and the two made their way through the crowd towards the lingerie store. “Will you help me pick out some things? I’ve never bought lingerie before and I’d like to get some nice things for John’s benefit,” Rose admitted, her face growing a bit red.

“Of course! You should get some practical stuff too. That sheer little number there…” Molly paused to point at a black bra that was completely sheer. “Isn’t practical in terms of support or every day wear, but perfect for the bedroom.”

Rose nodded slowly, absorbing the information. “I’ve always wondered about that. Most of it seems so impractical, hardly anything that could be worn in the office or at a competition or something. And why buy something if it doesn’t really suit its purpose? That makes a lot of sense though. I think I’ll buy some pretty, sexy things for me to wear regularly and some pretty, sexy, and wholly impractical knock-out pieces for John,” she mused.

“Exactly,” Molly confirmed. It surprised her a bit that Rose was a bit embarrassed about discussing lingerie, especially when she had good questions about it. Then again, she’d been raised by Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes, quite probably two of the most dysfunctional men in the history of the world. Well, Molly could help with that, and happily too! “Let me show you some of my favorite brands,” she said, steering Rose into the store.

An hour later, Rose left after purchasing several hundred pounds worth of lingerie, bringing the grand total of her shopping spree on Mycroft’s card to nearly two thousand pounds. “Let’s get some takeaway, on me, and then go back to your flat. Sound good?” Rose asked. “I’d say we could eat out somewhere but we’ve got a ridiculous number of shopping bags with us at this point.”

“I think you’re right. If you like Italian, there’s a great takeaway spot a block from my flat that you’ll love,” Molly suggested as they exited the shopping center. “Let’s get a taxi and have them drop us there. We might get robbed if we try to take all this on the tube!” Moments later, Rose flagged down a taxi and the two girls were off to continue their fun together.

\---------------------------------------------

_Some Hours Later_

John Watson was pacing the sitting room of Baker Street. Back and forth, around in circles, into the kitchen and around the table. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d paced like this… and then he did. He’d last paced like this when Rose was in hospital, in surgery, after being attacked. But prior to that he couldn’t ever remember pacing like this. Yet another thing that seemed to begin when and where Rose Holmes came into his life and he’d somehow fallen in love with her.

Which was why it was so bloody infuriating that it was going on 1:30am and Rose was not home, not answering his calls or texts, and not at Mycroft’s, Louise’s, Alfred’s or the studio. John had already tried all those people and places. He actually didn’t know where Rose was and pacing the flat kept him from more or less prowling the streets looking for her. John wasn’t certain where to even begin and Sherlock had been little help since he’d arrived home that evening.

_Earlier That Evening_

A slow, measured pace of feet climbing the stairs caught the attention of John who had just settled in his chair with a cup of tea. “Mrs. Hudson?” he called. “Is that you?” The steps seemed too heavy, but who else could it be?

“It’s me,” Sherlock responded as he entered the flat. He watched John begin to scrutinize him and really, the last thing he wanted to do was explain why he was in pain. “I’m fine. Is my sister here?”

“No. I thought she might be with you,” John responded. He watched his friend walk down the hall towards his room, his gait altered. The other man was… not quite limping, but definitely moving slowly and awkwardly. “Sherlock, are you really okay? You’re walking funny. I’m a doctor remember? I can help if you’re hurt.”

Sherlock snorted. “I’m fine. Have you heard from Rose at all?”

“Not in a few hours. She was upset so,” John pointed out. “Said her brothers were being her brothers. What happened?”

Pausing in the doorway of his room, Sherlock turned to look down the hallway at John. The defeated look on his face took John by surprise. “I… fucked up,” he admitted. “And put Rose in a situation where Mycroft called her a thief and I didn’t stop him quickly enough. Let me know if you hear from her, will you?”

John nodded slowly. “Alright, I will. Sure you’re alright?” He wasn’t the least bit surprised when Sherlock waved his hand dismissively and disappeared into his room.

_Present_

“She’s not answering my texts Sherlock. Hasn’t in hours and all she said was that she was fine and out with a friend. Only I’ve called them all and none of them have seen her and I’m really worried. Have you texted her?” John demanded of his friend.

Sherlock looked up from examining the photographs John had taken earlier while working their current private case. “I have; texted and called. She’s not responding and I suppose I don’t blame her for that. If something was wrong though, Mycroft would know. He’s watching her- that’s why I’m not using the GPS tracking on her mobile. I’ve already done enough today, I don’t need to make it worse by tracking her.”

John took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. “That’s not good enough for me Sherlock.” He grabbed his mobile and flipped through the contacts before selecting one, and it wasn’t Rose.

Across town, Mycroft answered his mobile with a tired, “Yes?”

“Where’s Rose? She isn’t home, she isn’t with you, she isn’t taking calls or answering texts,” John explained in a rush. “Where is she?”

“She’s safe.”

John pinched the bridge of his nose. _Dear god, the Holmes men are so annoying and smug_ , he thought to himself. “Safe _where_ Mycroft? I’m not playing here, I’m worried and I’m not okay with her not returning my texts or calls when it’s 1:30 in the bloody morning.”

At the other end of the line, Mycroft sighed, and the tapping of a keyboard could be heard. “She is at Miss Hooper’s, and has been for the past four hours.”

“Right,” John responded. He hung up on Mycroft and crossed the room to get his jacket. To Molly Hooper’s he would go then!

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long wait! Hope you enjoy the chapter!


	16. The Fallout

Faint strains of Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody floated down the hallway as John stepped out of the stairwell onto the second storey of Molly’s building. His hand itched to give Rose’s bottom a good smack for dragging him out of the flat this time of night. There was really no excuse for ignoring him or not checking in. Molly’s flat was at the other end of the hall and as John came closer to the door, the music grew louder and louder. That was a bit of a surprise; John didn’t take Molly for a partier or a Queen fan really. It was very evident though, as he banged on the door, that it was indeed her flat that the music was coming from, and _loudly_.

Inside Molly’s flat, the girls were singing Bohemian Rhapsody at the top of their lungs while playing the Rock Band guitar (Rose) and drum set (Molly), trying to get a perfect score for the song. “We’re almost there!” Rose squealed, giving up on singing along with the lyrics for a moment. That was when someone banged loudly on the door. Both Molly and Rose abruptly turned to look at the door, forgetting about their game just long enough to lose out on a perfect score.

“I’m going to see who it is,” Molly said. “I’m sure it’s just a neighbor upset by the noise.” Putting down the drumsticks, she headed towards the door as Rose muted the game. Things were suddenly all too quiet and by the time Molly was able to look through the peephole, her heart was pounding wildly. At the sight of who was on the other side, she let out a sigh of relief before unlocking the door. “It’s John!” she called back to Rose.

“John?” Rose called back, sounding confused.

“John,” the man in question confirmed once Molly opened the door. “Hi Molly. Sorry to bother you so late, but I’ve been trying to find Rose.”

“Oh, it’s alright. Come in,” Molly invited, making more room for him to enter. “I thought it might be a neighbor come to complain, what the banging and all.”

“I hope I didn’t frighten you, but the music…” John gave Molly an apologetic smile before she closed the door behind him. That was when he turned his attention to Rose, who had come to join them in the entry way.

Rose stuck the tip of her tongue out as she thought long and hard about why John was at Molly’s to see her. How had he even known she was _at_ Molly’s? It appeared, however, that she was taking too long to come up with an answer as John crossed his arms over his chest and raised both eyebrows at her. “Um… Hi…” she said slowly.

If it was possible, John’s eyebrows rose even further, but her look of confusion didn’t disappear in response to his look. “You don’t know why I’m here,” he said, stating the obvious. He uncrossed his arms and tapped the watch on his wrist. “Do you know what time it is?”

Rose’s eyes went wide. “Uh… um… no…”

“Oh my goodness it’s past two!” Molly exclaimed, answering the question for Rose.

There was no feigning the look of shock and horror that crossed Rose’s face and John realized he hadn’t been ignored. In fact, it was time that had been ignored! “Yeah, past two. You’re not at home, nobody’s heard from you in hours. I’ve called and texted, but if you’ve been playing that game for hours, I’m not surprised you didn’t hear your mobile. Were you two planning a sleepover?”

The young women traded looks with one another. “Well, you’re welcome to stay if you want. I didn’t know it was so late or I would’ve invited you before now. No wonder my hands hurt!” Molly commented. Playing the drums for three or four hours was bound to do that to a person.

“I didn’t realize so much time had passed,” Rose murmured, looking troubled. “Or that you were trying to reach me, John. I’m ignoring my brothers, but I wasn’t purposely ignoring you. As much as I’d love to stay Molly, it seems really rude to send John home on his own after he came here looking for me. Plus I’ve got hours and hours of dancing to do tomorrow. Is that alright?”

“Of course!” Molly assured her. “We’ll plan a proper overnight sometime. It’d be great fun! Just make sure you don’t forget anything you bought today. I can’t promise I’d return it to you if it was cute and might fit me,” she laughed. Together they gathered Rose’s things, making sure she had all of them, while John watched rather wide-eyed, wondering if Rose had bought an entire store earlier in the day.

“This everything?” John doubled checked as he began to grab boxes and bags to carry out. “Not forgetting the kitchen sink or anything like that, hm? And how is it that I come looking for you, yet it’s an entire floor of Harrods that I’m leaving with in addition? Last I checked I wasn’t your pack horse.” His tone was gruff, but he threw Rose a teasing look that made her smile.

“Is that somewhat like Mrs. Hudson not being our housekeeper and yet she feeds you and Sherlock regularly?” Rose asked, making sure to put some sass in her tone. She giggled when John merely rolled his eyes and turned to say goodbye to Molly.

“Sorry to bother you so late Molly. Hope you have a good night,” John said sincerely. He waited, arms full of bags, for the girls to say goodbye.

“You too John,” Molly replied with a smile. She turned to Rose and the two young women hugged one another for a moment. “Let’s do this again, alright?”

Rose flashed her a bright smile. “Definitely! I’d really like that. Night Molly!” With a wave, she and John headed towards the stairwell. Despite the fact that John’s hands and arms were full, Rose looped her arm through his as they walked. Neither of them said anything at all until they’d exited the building.

“We might have to walk a bit to get a cab,” John commented. “Or we could take the tube. Preference? Although with all the bags, a cab might be a little bit better, yeah?”

“Good call. We might have to walk up a few blocks to find one though,” Rose pointed out. “I can take some of the bags if you want. You really don’t have to carry them all. I do have two perfectly good arms.” She held them out in front of her as if examining them.

“’S alright. I don’t mind all that much. In all seriousness, did you buy an entire store? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you come home with so much from one shopping trip before. Should I be concerned about your finances?” John asked. The question about her finances was a sincere one, as he didn’t like the idea of her being without funds.

“No, I didn’t buy any of this, Mycroft did,” she added, when John gave her a strange look. “I wanted to get back at him and be all ‘accuse me of being a thief, fine, I’ll be one then’ but I’m not sure I made the point I was looking to make. And he commented on my clothes again too, in a negative way. So that motivated things too. I’m just not sure if this reads statement or…” Rose’s voice ran out as she tried to think of the right word.

“Tantrum?” John filled in. “Spiteful? Willful?” He chuckled as Rose gave him some serious side-eye.

“Try and be a little less helpful,” she quipped as she nudged his side with her elbow. “Though I’m sure you’re channeling the words Mycroft will use. I’m somewhat surprised he hasn’t hunted me down after all the money I spent.” Rose paused for a moment and looked around, as if Mycroft might be watching from the shadows somewhere. It was an unsettling but very real possibility! And if he wasn’t, his eyes in the city, CCTV, might be tracking her for him!

“Perhaps he’s not sure how to proceed after earlier? Raise your arm, love, and get that taxi,” John asked. He was relieved when the driver stopped and happily deposited Rose’s purchases on her lap and in the front passenger seat before getting into the cab himself.

“Some of these purchases are for you,” Rose murmured on the drive back to Baker Street. “I bought them just for you in mind. The next date night we have… My, my, won’t you be surprised?” She wriggled her eyebrows at him and smiled proudly when John groaned. Rose was certain that John’s head was now filled with ideas of what she might have bought that he would enjoying, running the gamut from stockings to knickers to sexy little black dresses.

“We could have a fashion show, you know,” John responded. Something about Rose’s look told him that she knew precisely what he was thinking—her beautiful, strong yet lithe body in various stages of undress—and blushed just a bit. “You Holmes lot are too good at reading people,” he decided, giving a slight huff. “Though I’m not to blame for it. You suggestive thing you.” John looked into her eyes and smiled.

“Wasn’t someone just pointing out to me how late it was?” Rose asked, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Oh, right, that was _you_. Have you changed your position on the lateness of the hour?”

John coughed and shifted a bit in his seat. “I might be. Perhaps. How early do you have to be at the studio tomorrow?”

“I’m not due until noon. Alfred had something going on in the morning. I have just one question for you before we start thinking about fashion shows.” Rose bit her lip and looked towards the front seat, to see if the driver was paying any attention to them. He didn’t appear to be. “Am I in trouble?” she whispered in John’s ear.

It was a good question and one that gave him considerable pause. He’d been furious when he left 221B but it had become clear that Rose hadn’t purposely ignored him or stayed out so late that he had worried. Besides, if he said yes she was, he was definitely not getting a fashion show. “Don’t do it again,” John responded sternly. “Because you will be if it happens again. This time, I don’t think it was done purposely, so we’ll let it go.”

A huge wave of relief rushed over Rose and she flashed John a magnificent smile. “I won’t,” she promise. Suddenly uncaring of the driver and what he may or may not be watching, Rose put her arms around John and kissed him fiercely, as if hungry for him. None of the soft, sweet kisses that gradually became more urgent like usual. Instead, her lips claimed his and John responded with soft sweet kisses of his own.

“Oi! Knock it off back there!” The driver called, interrupting them. “I’m not detail cleaning this car a second time this month, so keep ahold of yourselves until you get to Baker Street! Kids these days,” the man grumbled. It was only when Rose and John sheepishly let go of each other that the driver realized John wasn’t a ‘kid’ and rolled his eyes, causing Rose to dissolve into giggles.

A bit red faced, John leaned close to Rose and whispered in her ear, “I changed my mind. You are definitely in trouble.”

A bemused smile played on Rose’s lips. “You’ll change your mind again, when you see the lingerie I bought.”

“Oh it is _definitely_ not too late for a fashion show,” John decided at once.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John sat back on Rose’s couch, arms crossed over his chest with a smirk on his face as he waited for Rose to pop back out of her room. This was rather unprecedented for the two of them and John was quite enjoying himself. Usually Rose was very modest, not to mention a bit self-conscious about her scars. The one from having her appendix out was barely noticeable anymore. Some small scars here and there from childhood accidents and the like remained, but were faded. Those were not the scars that made Rose self-conscious, as John well knew. It was the scar on her chest from where she’d been stabbed, and a smaller but equally prominent scar on her neck from where she’d been nicked by the blade. 

Rose had always been careful to hide those scars, even around him. It distressed her to see them or have anyone else see them. Even in their most intimate moments together, snuggled in bed or snogging and petting, Rose was sensitive about them. She never undressed in front of him and if she owned any lingerie before today, John certainly hadn’t seen it. He was glad to see Rose feel so confident around him, whatever had been the cause of it. Her scars certainly didn’t bother him. After all, John had many of his own, not least of which was the scar from when he’d been shot. Later, John might ask why she did this now and not before, simply for curiosity’s sake.

Well, John had to admit to that he was definitely enjoying the fashion show. Some of Rose’s lingerie choices had been predictable- garter belts, since she wore stockings, and an obligatory polka dotted piece. In addition to polka dots, lace had abounded, along with delicate prints and silky pajama sets, with colors ranging from deep red to delicate pinks, along with a dash of greens and purples. Everything highlighted her curves to perfection and now that he’d seen her own style preferences, he could easily buy her lingerie himself on occasion and be confident he was getting it right!

“How many more sets have you got to go?” John called as she ducked into her room to change one more. He could sit there all night and watch her give him a lingerie parade, but it was getting rather late and John knew she needed some sleep before dance practice with Alfred. Their next competition was Sunday, so their final practice would be extensive.

“Just two! And this one might be my very favorite! Or at least tied for favorite.” Opening her bedroom door, she revealed a plain, delicate colored pink bra and knicker set. In comparison to the others with patterns and delicate flowers, this was considerably plain. At least from the front!  Rose acted as if she were walking a cat walk and made a silly model face as she circled around the room. She stopped in front of John and began to twirl to give him a good look. Rose stopped mid turn though, revealing the surprise of the little pink set. Attached to the back of her knickers was a fluffy little bunny tail. Rose wiggled her hips for him, making the tail move. “Like it?” she asked, turning to look over her shoulder. It pleased her to no end to see John grinning from ear to ear.

“I like this one. I like this one a lot,” John admitted. “It’s so… playful and so you. Does this mean I can call you my sexy little bunny? Because you look like one right now.” He laughed when Rose’s face turned bright red. “Maybe just when it’s us. Come here little bunny.” John crooked his finger and, when she was close enough, pulled her into his lap. His lips came down on hers, claiming them hungrily. John cupped her head with one hand, then slowly ran both hands down her back until he came to her knickers. One hand squeezed her bum gently, while the other flicked her tail, before squeezing as well.

The moment their lips met, Rose’s heart was racing and pounding almost violently inside her chest. The blood in her veins sang as John’s lips crushed her own. She responded in kind, her lips soft, warm and moist from his kisses. She could taste tea on his lips as he undoubtedly could taste coffee on hers. As John’s hands began to explore, roaming down her body, Rose began to do the same. One hand ran through his hair as the other moved slowly down his chest, letting her fingernails drag slightly. Even through his shirt, Rose could feel him respond to her touch. Suddenly emboldened, Rose began to unbutton his shirt and push it down his arms.

In a tumble of frenzied movement and shifting of clothing, John soon matched Rose’s state of undress with just his pants remaining. His shirt and trousers were tossed haphazardly away from the couch. Tenderly, John laid Rose down on the sofa and leaned on his forearms above her. He began to kiss her, starting at the hollow of her neck, slowly moving downward. His lips blazed a path of heat with each kiss until he reached her breasts and paused to kiss her lips once again.

Rose whined a bit beneath him as John continued to touch and tease her. Yet despite that teasing, John’s ardor was surprisingly and touchingly restrained. Unlike others she’d dated and experimented in intimacy with, John didn’t rush her. He was patient and attentive, never once pressuring her to have sex with him despite the fact that they’d shared a bed for quite a while now. Rose had wondered when was the right time among the usual concerns that a virgin would have, she told herself. Yet while the questions lingered, the answers never came. Now though, Rose felt emboldened by his blatant desire for her as John’s hand lingered over her skin in an almost worshipful manner. She arched her body in response to his touch as John began to caress her breast and…

“ROSE!”

The sudden shout and accompanying slam of Rose’s front door hitting the sitting room wall caused both occupants on the sofa to shout and jump apart. In the process, John fell onto the floor, groaning as he landed with a rather significant thud on his bad shoulder.

“SHERLOCK!” Rose screeched, scrambling to grab the blanket off the back of her couch. She quickly covered herself up with it and turned an angry look on her brother. “Sherlock, you don’t get to just burst into my flat in the middle of the night! Not any night, but especially not after today!”

Sherlock was so thrilled that Rose was home and he could make amends with her that he paid no notice the various stages of undress around him. “But Rose! You’re home and I can explain,” he replied, his voice wavering a bit as he saw the anger in her eyes. “I can explain everything if you’ll only give me a chance.”

“No,” Rose said firmly. “Get out of my flat please, now. I am entitled to my space and I am not in the least bit amenable to hearing your excuses right now. You threw me under the bus and put my entire relationship with Mycroft in jeopardy. How _could_ you _do_ that when you know how much it’s meant to me to rebuild things with him?” She was clearly no less distressed now about what had felt like a betrayal than she had been earlier. “Get out Sherlock!” Rose pointed at the door and ignored the look of devastation that crossed Sherlock’s face.

They had never been at odds like this before and it made Sherlock numb with uncertainty. They were partners in crime! All the things they had done together in childhood and how close they had always been. Sherlock had been sure that Rose would listen to reason after so many hours had passed. That’s why he rushed over as soon as he realized she was back at Baker Street! He had never expected to be turned away like this.

“I said get out Sherlock and I meant it. Get out of my flat. I am nowhere near ready to speak to you about what you did to me today, plus it’s the middle of the bloody night. Get out!” Rose shouted. When Sherlock turned away, devastation clear from the way his face fell and his shoulders hunched, she didn’t feel a sense of relief, or feel good for making Sherlock look that way. It hurt her heart, but so had his actions earlier.

“What the hell just happened?” John asked as he got up from the floor. He’d expected Sherlock to rail at him for attempting to have sex his sister. What had actually happened, blindsided and confused him. It was then that he noticed the tears gathering in Rose’s eyes. “Love, are you alright?”

“I need to change my locks,” she whispered, blinking away the hot tears in her eyes.

“Love, let’s be serious, it’s Sherlock. There is no lock he cannot pick if he wants to get in somewhere,” he pointed out gently. “Do you want to talk about what happened between you two today?” He wasn’t very surprised when Rose shook her head and suddenly appeared quite tired. “Come on, let’s go sleep in the cupcake you call a bedroom,” John suggested, his voice heavy with resignation. Nothing ruined the idea of having sex like your girlfriend’s brother walking into the room! Especially when it would’ve been their first time together. “You need sleep for practice tomorrow and I need sleep in general.” He pressed a kiss to Rose’s forehead and stood her up on her feet, then swept her into his arms. “May I carry you off to bed, my darling girl?”

What could have been the resurgence of a romantic moment after Sherlock’s rude interruption was thwarted when Rose yawned in response. “Sorry,” she said, offering the apology rather sheepishly. “Yes, you may carry me off, to bed or anywhere at all. Always.”

Smiling softly at her words, John kissed her nose before carrying her off to bed.

\------------------------------------------------------------------

Late Saturday evening, Mycroft was putting the finishing touches on his dinner when he heard the front door of the townhouse open and close. “Come through to the kitchen Anthea!” he called out. Mycroft was expecting his PA to drop off a somewhat time sensitive package, yet it was not Anthea he saw out of the corner of his eye. It was Rose, peeking somewhat hesitantly around the corner and into the kitchen. Mycroft turned his full attention to her, his ever observant eyes denoting every detail of her facial expression, chosen wardrobe and hair style for the day… and the somewhat anxious look in her eyes. Truthfully, Mycroft hadn’t intended to confront Rose about the spending, which he’d been aware of the previous evening. Caution her about doing it again, yes, but confront her, no; not after yesterday’s fiasco.

Silence reined between the siblings for a moment as they felt out how to best approach one another. Rose was the first to break the silence. “I brought pie,” she said quietly, holding out her offering. It was Mycroft’s favorite, peach with pecan streusel topping.

Mycroft quirked an eyebrow. “Trying to bribe me, sister mine?” The look she gave him in response to that question was full of feigned outrage.

“Of course not!” Rose declared, her voice firmer and a bit louder now. She could feel her face began to grow heated when Mycroft chose not to respond verbally, but merely lifted both brows. “Okay, _maybe_ ,” she conceded.

“In any case, I’m amenable to such a bribe. There’s enough dinner for two if you’re interested?” He indicated a roast chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy.

Rose peered a little closer at the food. It looked okay and smelled okay, but this was Mycroft they were talking about.

“Sister mine, I am hardly going to choose poison if I intended to do away with you. For one thing, how would I ever get that past Sherlock?” Mycroft queried. “That would be the first thing he checked for if you expired after having dinner with me.”

“That’s all well and good, but I recall a Christmas where you nearly set the house on fire and we had to call desperately for somewhere willing to deliver a Christmas dinner,” Rose pointed out. “It looks safe enough though. Make sure the appliances are off, will you? Just in case.” She gave him a mischievous grin while depositing the pie on the kitchen counter.

“Set the table then. I ought to make you work for your meal just a bit. That’s good parenting, hm? To teach responsibility, or so books told me,” Mycroft commented, carrying the food to the table.

“Says the man with a housekeeper,” Rose giggled. “But you’ve seen my flat a few times at least, it’s well kept. So is B to an extent, and it’s definitely not Sherlock keeping that place in reasonable order. John lives in terror of being poisoned,” she admitted. “And I can’t really blame him.” As she set a plate at Mycroft’s place, Rose removed a small pile of papers and bank notes from her pocket to sit beside it.

“The books said nothing about silly siblings and car theft, which presents a much greater conundrum, in my eyes, than are you or are you not able to complete household chores.” It was the elephant in the room and they might as well address it. Sighing heavily, Mycroft took his seat and eyed the pile near his plate, eyes narrowed. “Do I dare to enquire?” He lifted his eyes from the table to give Rose his full attention. He could examine it later, after all.

“I was really angry and hurt yesterday, so I went on a spending spree. I spent your money because I could and I think, somewhere along the way, that I was sticking it to you by doing that. The point got rather lost though,” Rose admitted, her face growing red. “Turned more into being self-indulgent than making a statement. After practice today I returned a good portion of the things I bought. Those receipts are proof of your card being credited. The pounds are to cover the costs of the things I kept, and a couple things I couldn’t return.”

That was an expected turn of events and surprise flashed briefly across Mycroft’s face. It dawned on him that the way he responded now in the face of such a gesture would be key to repairing the hurt he caused the day before. “Thank you,” he replied quietly. “I hope you haven’t bankrupted yourself by doing this. May I ask you something?” Mycroft was attempting to tread lightly into what felt like uncharted territory. When Rose nodded, he carefully posed his question. “What was your point? You said you had one, but it got lost. I suppose you don’t have to answer if you’d rather not, but I find that I am rather curious.”

She fell silent for a long moment. “I’m going to start some coffee for myself. Would you like some?” Rose moved past him towards the coffeemaker. It seemed to Mycroft that there would be no response to his question, at least of a verbal nature. Rose’s quiet was significant in and of itself. Just as he gave up on the question and attempted to find something else to say, Rose decided to give an answer.

“You more or less called me a thief, Mycroft. Accused me of stealing from you and threw my past mistakes in my face when I pled innocence in the actual thieving of your car. Since you seemed so convinced of my guilt, I thought I’d show you what a real thief is like and go on a spending spree. I wanted to buy all sorts of things that would be expensive and ultimately annoy you, as most of my wardrobe seems to,” Rose explained, her voice soft yet full of tension. “It ended up morphing into what amounts to a pity party with a dash of tantrum and I didn’t really feel the least bit better for it. The only bright side really was that I invited Molly Hooper to go shopping with me and we got on famously. I think we’re going to be good friends. Bit of a silver lining that.”

Opening a cupboard, Rose stood up on her tiptoes, trying to reach a mug for the coffee. How and why they ended up on the top shelf she didn’t know, but it was distinctly unhelpful!

Seeing her difficulty, Mycroft came to stand beside her, easily taking a mug from the shelf. He took a second, for himself, and they stood that way for a moment; mugs in hand, unable to look in each other’s eyes. Finally, he took the mugs and set them aside so he could wrap his arms around Rose. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, holding her tightly. “I’m sorry that I jumped to a conclusion and refused to believe you when you were telling the truth. It infuriated me, seeing you and Sherlock giggling in the car as if it were a lark. I should have taken a breath and really thought about it. After all the work we’ve done to put ourselves back together… I should have known better and I’m sorry.”

Nestling against Mycroft as he held her close, Rose turned her face into his chest and began to cry. They were tears of hurting, but even more so tears of relief. That relief washed over her in waves as Mycroft continued to hold her close. What she had expected was to be ordered to the study and have to not only answer for spending his money, but also for the car. Rose had wanted to believe that he would know she was being truthful and apologize but her reaction made it clear that she hadn’t been sure that was really how he would respond.

Mycroft sighed heavily, silently bemoaning the damage her tears would do to his dress shirt, and held Rose that much tighter. “That’s really not how you’re supposed to respond,” he pointed out. “You’re not supposed to cry. That is the very opposite of what I hoped the outcome to my words would be.” As usual, her tears cut him like a knife. Knowing he was responsible for causing them only amplified that pain. “I meant, or at least hoped, those words would be comforting and meaningful. It’s not easy for me to admit failure, especially when it comes to you, but that is just what I did. How have I made you cry now?” Mycroft was truly confused and so he paused, hoping Rose would respond. Yet, there was nothing to be heard but her tears. “How can I make it stop? Now that I’ve made you cry, even without meaning to do so, how can I make it better?”

Rose didn’t respond, except to hold on to him that much tighter. “Sherlock confessed the whole of it,” Mycroft continued on, letting her cry as much as she needed too. “He was devastated that his panic had ended with my accusing you and was more than a little afraid that I would cane him for pulling such nonsense. I did in fact do so and he very much deserved it. I didn’t reach out to you last night because I wanted you to have your space, at least for a little while. Was that a mistake? Should I have gone after you at once?”

When she shook her head no, Mycroft felt a bit of relief and finally fished in his pocket for a handkerchief. “Dry your tears,” he urged, pressing the handkerchief into her hand. “Before you ruin my shirt and my tailor refuses to forgive me.” The little joke earned him a tiny smile in response. Then, something in his peripheral vision caught his attention,

“Lilibet! I did not make chicken for your sole delight! Bloody cat, get away from my dinner!” Mycroft scolded his little ginger kitty. The creature in question jumped down from the counter and pranced towards him. “Go away Cat,” he grumbled, only to have Lilibet purr as she rubbed up against her legs. “This damn cat lives for chicken. She’s been watching me out here since I started cooking, clearly waiting for her opportunity to snatch it.” He rolled his eyes a bit before pressing a kiss to Rose’s head. “Get your coffee and go sit while I put dinner on the table before she eats it.”

For several minutes, neither Holmes sibling had much to say. They were far too focused on eating. Rose broke the relative silence first asking, “Are you coming to my competition tomorrow? It’s classic ballroom, none of that Latin I know you object to.”

“I have cleared my schedule in order to do so, yes,” Mycroft assured her. “So barring a national disaster, I will be there to cheer you on.”

“Will you play nicely with John as well? He’s going to be there and he’s important to me. I don’t want you picking petty fights with him.” Rose gave her brother a pointed look, only to receive an eye roll in response.

“Have you and Sherlock spoken at all?” Mycroft asked. “I was alarmed at how distraught he was after you left. Hurting you far outweighed the caning, I could tell.”

“Not really, no. He burst into my flat last night at about 330am and I told him to leave. I didn’t venture into B this morning before I left. I really don’t know what to say to Sherlock right now. Eventually it will come to me, or I’ll simply miss him enough to be willing to talk.” Sighing, Rose decided it was time to change the subject. “I’m not taking Anthea’s dinner am I? I’d feel badly if I am.”

Mycroft’s eyebrows instantly went skyward. “Anthea’s dinner? What are you talking about?”

“When I came in you thought I was Anthea and you told me to come through to the kitchen. Were you expecting her?” Rose questioned. She grinned mischievously at how uncomfortable this made her brother. It was so rarely that she could discomfort him in this way!

“Anthea is due to drop off some materials for my review no later than ten tonight. I thought perhaps she had finished early and let herself in. She does have the code for just such a reason, as have most of my PAs. The trustworthy ones at any rate.” There were a few Mycroft wouldn’t have trusted a pencil with, let alone the code to the townhouse!

Rose couldn’t resist smirking at her big brother. “So you were making dinner for two because…”

“Because then I have lunch tomorrow,” Mycroft retorted as he pinned her with a dark look. “What is it with speculations? First Her Majesty and now you! Change the subject _now_ , sister mine. I’m not lonely. Besides, I have Cat and I have you plaguing me with your presence on a fairly regular basis these days. I do not have _time_ to be lonely.”

As if responding to being called ‘Cat’ rather than Lilibet, the kitty in question leapt onto the table and promptly attempted to steal some chicken from Rose’s plate. Before Mycroft could warn her not to, Rose offered the kitten a piece of her chicken. Mycroft sighed heavily, rolling his eyes at her actions. “Yes, do encourage her to misbehave, thank you _very_ much. Though why I expect any different from you, I have no idea,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “The women in my life are all against me and Lilibet is the latest recruit. Whatever did I do to deserve this? Tell me that,” Mycroft challenged, jabbing a fork in her direction.

Lilibet, always ready for more chicken, leapt at his fork and wrestled the chicken from it before running off with her ill-gotten gains, leaving one disgruntled owner and one giggly young lady in her wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very much overdue, but better late than never (I hope)!


End file.
